No Preconceptions
by OfSpock
Summary: Ever watch something and see things completly different than anyone else? I do. Spockcentric but pretty much everyone gets a mention. I have written over 210,000 words including the end but I am editing as I go, so it is definitely getting longer.
1. Chapter 1 The End And The Beginning

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Star Trek**

**Warnings: I'd prefer not to spoil, but it's going to start off light and fluffy but end up somewhere darker.**

Rain thudded down on the roof of the building; a dull constant rhythm that encouraged lethargy and staying indoors. The buildings environmental controls insulated her from the rain and kept the room hot and dry. From the bed, she could enjoy the drum of the rain without being cold and damp. The icy sharp stinging the previous day had been an unpleasant surprise. She had kept her face neutral but he had known of her discomfort and hurried her under cover of the hotel room where she could dry off. He had spared no effort ensuring her comfort. Dry clothes of soft, delicate fabric, soft music, hand feeding of indulgent foods, conversation which avoided controversial topics lulled her into a compliant mood so he could seduce her.

None of it had been necessary, of course. She had come here for one reason and they both knew what it was. He had still done everything for her as was her right. She had saved his life every seven years since they were bonded and she was entitled to his respect.

She lay on the silken sheets, her limbs intertwined with his. Their harsh breathing filled the air and the heat of their passion still warmed them. No longer two, they were one. T'Sil felt content as she never did in his absence, and seldom in his presence. She cherished this sensation of peace. She kept her eyes closed enjoying it while it lasted.

He laughed and ruined it, he always did. Why did he insist on this deviant behaviour? "Miss me, this time, beloved?" said Sybok his deep voice. She pushed herself upright, facing away from him. She hated looking at him. Even though hate was an emotion, she admitted she felt it. He ran his hands over her back and she relaxed a little, perhaps she could initiate further intimacy?

He was sated and talkative. "I didn't expect you for another two years. It was an agreeable surprise." She hated talking, or more precisely, she hated listening to him talk. Once she had loved it. Back when he had been the foremost student on Vulcan, intelligent and destined for great things, not this shabby imitation of the life he could have had. Now his voice, once emotionless and precise overflowed with emotion, a smug certainty she would share his way of thinking. The desire to prove him wrong grew within her and she stifled it.

He could feel some part of her emotions, though and dropped his hands from her and cooled the tone of his voice. "Ashamed of how you still feel for me?" He never could resist making digs at her. She rose and gathered her clothing, scattered across the floor, and dressed, still without speaking. She would leave now, she decided. There was no point in staying further. She had tried, years before, tried to make him see logic, to appeal to the Council against the banishment. There would be penance, of course, years of it, and would never regain the trust he had lost, but they could have had a life together. Their children could have had the life they should have had. He had refused her, refused to change his behaviour.

"This was the last time." She had said it before, to him and to herself, but it never had been. This time it was. "I will leave now." Despair surged through her. He was hers and she was his. Nothing would ever change that. Not the Council, not her fellow Reldai, not the female followers he was intimate with in her absence. Jealousy rose up at the thought and her emotions overwhelmed her. She pushed the emotion down and only succeeded in bringing forth tears.

His hands closed over her arms and he turned her, tilting her chin up and brushing away the errant tear from her closed eye. She braced herself for his triumphant comment but it did not come "You never leave me. Part of you is always here with me," he said, his voice gentle and seductive. "Why not stay? We could be together as we should be" She shook her head slowly, wordlessly. "I will give up the others," he promised. "They mean nothing. It was an experiment in physical desire I never shared my mind with them."

"Will you give up your blasphemy?" she said, knowing he wouldn't. He stared at her, without answering. He had been K'torr Skann since he was twenty and had been a blasphemer for years before. It was the way T'Rea had raised him. He would not change at this late date. She hesitated once she reached the door. It was harder than she had thought.

He laughed behind her, amused. "Having trouble?"

She turned. She had not wanted to, she wanted her last memory of him to be pleasant, but perhaps it was better this way. He stood naked in the centre of the room, tall, handsome and arrogant, his posture proud. Desire pooled deep inside her. She pushed aside the animal passion, and regarded him. The slender youth she had known was gone and in his place was an overweight, hairy, smiling man. He had no self-control and indulged his senses and it showed in his body and his face. It showed in the over decorated room surrounding them, the silken sheets and sumptuous wall hangings and carpets. Hatred welled within her, duller than usual. Perhaps she was approaching indifference after all, if at a slower pace than she desired.

"This was the last time," she said again and this time, she believed it. It must have shown in her demeanour because he showed alarm and strode towards her grabbing her wrist. "How are you going to stop yourself?" he demanded. "Has T'Sai convinced you to give yourself to another? Is that why you came? Has your ambition become so great? Are your feeling for me so different when we are apart?" She wrested her wrist free, he was weaker than he had been. He lacked discipline regarding his training and the low gravity worlds he had been living on. She trained often, as the oldest novice of Gol she had the lightest duties, which left time for meditation and training. Sleep came easier at night if she was exhausted.

She turned to leave and he grabbed her again. "Tell me," he insisted. "Is there to be another?" His jealousy soothed her raw emotions. It was not just she who had suffered from their separation. His jealousy was not unfounded. She could not progress from an acolyte until she had assisted someone through his Time. It was logical, there were equal numbers of male and female Reldai and the burden should fall upon them all, not just a few. Becoming a Reldai was one of the few reasons a Vulcan could sever a marriage bond and it was important fearful young women not choose the life of an acolyte to avoid marriage. Reldai would sometimes assist a man who had no bond mate through pon farr but there was a price. They kept the child of the union, and raised it in the Temple, unregistered in the Clan records.

"No," she replied. "There will be no other for me while you live."

Reassured by her sincerity, he drew her close and embraced her. "I am yours and you are mine. Parted from me and never parted. You will be here in two years, I do not doubt it." He kissed her, and she could not prevent herself from responding. She yearned to stay. He had only months left, could she not spend them with him? Concerned, she ran through the lowest level of meditation, mastering her emotions. It was an error. It dulled the marital bond and his mind pressed against hers, in the way she had seen him control his followers.

The bond both bound and protected her. He could not use his power against her as he could everyone else. It was how she had ended up in this half way state. She had been unable to say no when he asked her, all those years ago, to engage in intercourse with him before their marriage. Their bond had bloomed into full strength and she had been unable to act against him ever since. She would have given anything to take back that moment. Anything but undo the bond.

Now, his mind pressed against her secret pain, encouraging her to release it. The bond should have protected her, but working against her control was the fact she longed to say it. Her control lapsed and she tore her mouth away from his, her breathing heavy. "I hate you," she whispered into his ear. "I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that I cannot ignore you. I wish you were dead so I could be free of you." She was horrified by her lapse but once started she could not stop talking. It felt so good, unburdening herself to the person who should be her confidant. "I wish I had never been bonded to you. Most of all, I wish I had told you no. I don't stay an acolyte so I can stay loyal to you. I stay an acolyte because I am unworthy of proceeding. I am unable to master my hatred." He slapped her, hard, and she stopped, shocked.

He had never been violent before. Her own hand rose up, of its own volition and she stared at it. The desire to strike him back was sudden and fierce, almost overwhelming and her heart thrummed with excitement. She looked at his face triumph was writ there. It was more shocking than the slap had been. She lowered her hand, turned on her heel and left. He called after her, but she ignored it. He moved closer and she broke into a run. His mocking laughter followed her. She ran the entire way back to the space port. She scanned the crowd while she waited for her flight.

He did not come after her. Though she tried, she could not stop disappointment filling her. She had changed her booking to an earlier flight so he would not stop her, but she was still disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2 Shan'hal'lak

One moment, she didn't exist in his life, and then she smiled and her katra brushed him and he was lost. Later, he wondered if it had been the same for his father, but at the time there was nothing but her. She drew him to her. He walked across the room, his awareness of his surroundings muted. He stood behind her, listening to her lecture, searching for a conversational opening which would turn her attention his way. Kirk would have known what to say but he did not. "To hunt a species to extinction is not logical."

Her gentle puzzled reply "Whoever said the human race was logical" made him aware he hadn't said anything clever. Saving Humpback Whales from extinction would have the fortunate side effect of impressing her. She would never know, of course. He followed with the tour group up the stairs to the outside. The glass walls of the Institute bordered the open top of the whale tank on one side, the other side fenced off from San Francisco Bay. He assessed the area, his main attention fixed on her beautiful mobile face, glowing with love and affection for the whales.

The tour group moved off down the stairs, taking an eager Kirk with it. They could not kidnap the whales, he would have to communicate with them and ask their permission. If asking had not been possible, he would have weighed the lives of millions of Earth inhabitants against the whales' autonomy but it was. He removed his robe, ignoring the brisk chill breeze passing over his skin, and dived into the salty water, mouth closed. He touched the nearest whale, Gracie, merging the outer layers of their minds. Melding was more difficult with such an alien species but less so than he had feared. He pushed the information he needed her to know to the forefront of his mind, waiting to receive his answer.

He was putting on his robe when Dr Taylor and Admiral Kirk rushed towards him. "Alright, who the hell are you and what were you doing in there?" Dr Taylor demanded.

Kirk's "Yes, speak up fella." confused him, why was he pretending not to know what was going on?

"Attempting the hell to communicate," Spock responded, using the colourful metaphors so Kirk and Dr Taylor would pay attention to him.

"Communicate? Communicate what? You have no right to be here," Dr Taylor's agitation was obvious. Spock turned to reassure her but Kirk stepped between her and Spock. "You heard the lady"

Spock tried to clarify since neither of them appeared to realise his intention. "Admiral, if we were to assume that these whales were ours to do with as we please we would be as guilty as those who caused their extinction. " Dr Taylor's expression cleared as he spoke and Spock thought she had realised he and Kirk were trying to help her. Her next words extinguished his hope, though.

"Okay", Kirk and Spock both looked towards her. "I don't know what this is about but I want you guys out of here right now or I call the cops." Kirk gave her his best smile. "I assure you that won't be necessary. We were only trying to help," Dr Taylor seemed oblivious to his charm.

"The hell you were, buster. Your friend was messing up my tank and messing up my whales," Dr Taylor lectured.

Spock was compelled to correct her misinformation and bring her attention back to him. "They like you very much but they are not the hell your whales."

"I…I suppose they told you that, huh," said Dr Taylor standing taller and folding her arms across her chest.

"The hell they did," Spock confirmed. She was quick to achieve the correct conclusion.

"Right" Despite her words, he did not gain the impression Gillian believed him. However Kirk indicated they should leave and they did so.

They had been walking for several hours and it was late in the afternoon when something tugged Spock's consciousness. Dr Taylor's old rusted blue truck drove between the rows of parked cars lining the left of the footpath they were walking on. To the right, the naked masts of pleasure boats lined up in imitation. Dr Taylor parked beside them and he wondered how she had known where they were. Kirk was delighted. "There she is, from the Institute. If we play our cards right, we may be able to find out when those whales are leaving." Spock was perplexed but interested in learning. "How will playing cards help?"

"Well if it isn't Robin Hood and Friar Tuck" said Dr Taylor, leaning out the window. Spock didn't understand this statement. Her tone of voice was sarcastic though, so he remained silent and let Kirk respond. Before he could, Dr Taylor spoke again, "Where you fellas heading?"

Kirk smiled at Dr Taylor. "Back to San Francisco"

"You came all the way down here just to jump in and swim with the kiddies, huh?"

Kirk shrugged "Very little point in my trying to explain." Spock looked at Kirk for direction. He understood all the words they were saying but could not make sense of the conversation.

"Yeah, I'll buy that, what about him?" asked Dr Taylor. Kirk walked towards truck and Spock followed him, unwilling to let Kirk talk to the doctor alone.

"Him, he's harmless. Back in the sixties he was part of the free speech movement at Berkeley. I think he had a little too much LDS." Spock compared this statement to his memories of his life and could not find any correlation. He deduced it was a lie Kirk was telling to explain an abnormal aspect of Spock's behaviour. A cover story to obey the Prime Directive during a covert mission was a logical reason to make a false statement.

"LDS?" Gillian repeated, looking sceptical. "C'mon why don't you let me give you a lift? I have a notorious weakness for hard luck cases, that's why I work with whales." Spock had thought she worked with whales due to her obvious affection for them.

Kirk continued ingratiating himself with Dr Taylor "We don't want to be any trouble."

"You've already been that, c'mon." Gillian jerked her head to indicate they should get in the truck.

"Well, thank you very much." Kirk said moving to enter the truck on the opposite side.

Spock took advantage of Captain Kirk opening the door and took the seat beside Dr Taylor. Some primeval part of him demanded he not let a rival male sit close to her. "Don't mention it. And don't try anything; I have a tire iron right where I can get at it," warned Dr Taylor, starting the truck. Spock wondered what a tire iron was and why did she have it? He looked to Kirk for guidance but before he could ask she followed the statement with a question directed at him, "So, you were at Berkeley?"

Spock had listened to Kirk's speech on not telling the whole truth but found he could not tell a direct lie "I was not." He neglected to mention he had attended the Vulcan Science Institute. Gillian threw a puzzled glance at Captain Kirk who explained "Memory problems too." Despite the fullness of this lie, his memory was the most intact of his functions, Spock did not dispute it.

"What about you, where are you from?" Dr Taylor's attention focused once more on Kirk, who answered "Iowa."

"Oh. A landlubber," Dr Taylor did not seem impressed. "C'mon, what the hell were you guys trying to do back there? It wasn't some kind of macho thing was it? Because if that's all, I'll be real disappointed, I really hate that macho stuff."

Kirk attempted to steer the conversation away from the incident at the Cetacean Institute "Can I ask you a question?"

Dr Taylor made a frustrated sound "Go ahead"

"What's going to happen when you release the whales?"

"Ahh" she paused "They're gonna have to take their chances."

"What does that mean exactly, take their chances?" Spock was wondering too. There were a lot of colloquialisms in this conversation and both seemed to be trying to extract information from the other without giving any in return.

"It means they will be at risk from whale hunters the same as the rest of the Humpbacks." Dr Taylor directed her next comment to Spock "What did you mean when you said all that stuff back at the Institute about extinction?"

Spock went to clarify his position "I meant…" but Captain Kirk interrupted him. "He meant, what you said on the tour. That if things keep going the way they are, the Humpbacks will disappear forever."

Spock stared at Dr Taylor as she spoke "No, that's not what he said farm boy. 'Admiral, if we were to assume that these whales were ours to do with as we please we would be as guilty as those who caused, past tense, their extinction.' I have a photographic memory. I see words." Spock had erred, not realising how well she was listening to and assessing his words. He turned to Kirk "Are you sure it isn't the time for a colourful metaphor?" Humans seemed to use them when they made mistakes of this magnitude.

Dr Taylor sighed and rolled her eyes. "You guys aren't from the military, training them to retrieve torpedoes or some dipshit stuff like that?"

"No, ma'am, no dipshit," Kirk replied, his expression sincere, although they were in fact from the military and Kirk had told Dr Taylor several untruths.

"Well good, that's one thing I would have let you off right here." Dr Taylor's apparent mood had shifted again. Her actual mood, which Spock detected through the close contact, remained steady. If he could consider the volatile mix of fear, hope, determination and curiosity steady.

He broke into the conversation "Gracie is pregnant." Gillian slammed on the brakes, throwing Spock forward into the painful grip of the seatbelt. On the plus side, he did gain her complete attention. Dr Taylor turned to face him. "Alright, who are you. And don't jerk me around anymore. I want to know how you know that."

Spock opened his mouth to answer but Kirk answered first. "We can't tell you that"

"But" Dr Taylor protested, frustrated.

Kirk lifted his hand "But if you let me finish, I can tell you that we're not in the military and we intend no harm towards the whales." Spock looked from Kirk to Dr Taylor who was staring again, brow creased. "Then what...?"

"In fact we may be able to help you in ways you could not possible imagine." Admiral Kirk was flirting again but it was lost on Dr Taylor, her response was sceptical "Or believe, I bet."

"Very likely" Kirk confirmed. "You're not exactly catching us at our best."

Spock agreed "That much is certain." He felt certainty through his muffled contact with Dr Taylor and was struck by the realisation that she appeared to be able to tell when Kirk was being sincere and when he was … not telling the complete truth.

"I have a hunch that we'd all be a lot happier discussing this over dinner. What do you say?" Kirk smiled at Dr Taylor. She considered the offer and responded. "Do you guys like Italian?"

"No." "Yes." Both answered at the same time. Spock was horrified. He couldn't let Kirk near Dr Taylor in a date like situation. He tried again to protest. "No" "Yes"

"No." "Yes." He was going to have to nerve pinch Kirk into submission if he didn't stop accepting.

"I love Italian." Kirk looked at Spock and used his Admiral's voice "And so do you."

Kirk was his commanding officer. "Yes," he agreed. Gillian looked at them as if reconsidering her decision to spend time with crazy people.

He did not want to accompany Dr Taylor to a restaurant; at least not if Admiral Kirk was coming too. Spock knew could not compete in this way with Admiral Kirk over a human woman, or with a Vulcan, to be honest. He knew Kirk had had sex with at least two Vulcan women on Vulcan during the exile. He considered this to be illogical; Vulcans had no reason to engage in extramarital sexual activities like humans. One had cited curiosity as her reason. James T. Kirk had a wide ranging reputation. He excused himself from the meal citing a busy work schedule and lack of hunger.

He was gratified to notice Dr Taylor seemed reluctant for him to leave, although Admiral Kirk seemed relieved. She called to him as he left the truck. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?" The question puzzled him "Is there something wrong with the one I have?" Dr Taylor appeared to be going to answer but Admiral Kirk intervened again. "A little joke. Goodbye old friend." Spock took the hint and walked toward the Bounty but Dr Taylor called to him "Wait a minute! How did you know Gracie's pregnant? Nobody knows that." He answered with the truth "Gracie does." Then he turned to Admiral Kirk "I'll be right here." He heard Dr Taylor protest "What, he's just gonna hang around the bushes while we eat." Admiral Kirk dismissed her query "It's his way."

He retreated to his room on the ship for much needed meditation. It was an unpadded shelf but he lay on it and stared at the ceiling, fingers steepled. Jim Kirk was his friend and killing him would be a betrayal of the Ideals of Surak. And it was 'macho stuff' too and thus would not impress Dr Taylor because she hated that. He told himself it did not matter if Dr Taylor had sex with Captain Kirk, Nyota had before she and Spock had been in a relationship and it had not affected his feelings for her. It had been a long time ago and he had died since then but the flush of emotion Dr Taylor had roused in him unburied the similar emotions. He examined the triggered memories but they did not enlighten him. "Failed to make her happy" What did she mean? Was it a requirement for all human females? Did the same things make them happy or unhappy?

He started the next level of meditation. Control over his physical state achieved, he went through the mental exercises which enabled Third Level meditation and achieved a relaxed unemotional state. Once he had achieved Fourth Level, he sifted through his memories of the day. The mission was progressing well. They had located a breeding pair of whales and he had gained their permission to take them through time. The whales were in a contained space which would make transporting them easy. Afterward, they would have to open the whale tank to make their disappearance plausible. Dr Taylor had thrown him and Kirk out of the Institute before he completed his examination of the tank, but with the advanced equipment in the ship, they should be able to damage the tank in a plausible way which would not arouse suspicion in the authorities. Mr Scott had the tank building under way and Chekov and Uhura had located a nuclear vessel they could use to recharge the dilithium crystals. He examined their progress and could see nothing which he could do to enhance their success.

Business attended to, he turned his attention to more private matters. His memories were, insofar as he could tell, all present after the fal-tor-pan. The Reldai had focused their attentions on restoring his intellect. They would have euthanized his body if they could not restore him to a functioning level so it had been their first priority. The personal memories were there also, a record of events he had been present at, with few gaps. One of his final tasks at Gol had been to write them all down, in chronological order. Sorting important events from minutiae had taken several weeks. He had not yet sorted the jumbled emotional connections to the events. He knew what he had done, but not why.

He turned his thoughts to Dr Taylor. She created an overload of emotions and sensations in him and he was attracted to her. He pushed emotion away and considered the situation using logic. He did not know her well but everything he had seen spoke to her suitability as a mate for him, except she was a citizen of the 20th century, not his own time. He could not take her back with him. Unless, of course, like Captain John Christopher, she acquired knowledge of the future which could damage the time line, in which case, they would be required to take her with them. He experienced a twinge of temptation at the thought. He pushed the thought aside, it was illogical. No, she would have to join the small group of women with whom he had failed to have a successful relationship; Leila Kalomi, T'Pring, Nyota Uhura. T'Para. She was not for him, what she did was none of his concern. The mission was what mattered. He finished his meditation and went to help Mr Scott with the construction of the whale tank.

"Status," demanded Kirk.

"The tank will be finished by morning." Spock responded, joining his commander as he walked through the crowded halls of the Klingon ship, so different from the bright lit Federation ships he remembered.

"That's cutting it closer than you know. What about team two?"

"No word since beam in. We can only wait for them to call."

"Damn, Damn it, we've been so lucky." Kirk inspected the progress. Mr Scott was still welding, watched by a seated Dr McCoy.

"We've got two perfect whales right in our hands. If we don't move quickly, we'll lose them."

"In that event, the probabilities are that our mission would fail," Spock stated. The situation was indeed serious.

"Our mission?" Kirk asked, "Spock, you're talking about the end of every life on Earth. You're half human. Haven't you got any goddamn feelings about that?" Kirk threw up his hands, walking away in despair. Spock stopped he was creating a scene in front of Scott and McCoy who had stopped work to watch the altercation. He said nothing and returned to work, waiting for them to do the same. Getting emotional wouldn't help, although it didn't seem to hurt Kirk's performance. Work would help get them back safely, much more so than an emotional breakdown on Spock's part.

The second team checked in, requesting pick up and Commander Uhura beamed in, with the energy collector. There was no further communication from Mr Chekov, no matter what Mr Scott and Uhura did.


	3. Chapter 3 To Go Or Not To Go

The truck heaved to a halt outside the white house. Gillian put the parking brake on and locked both doors, then headed up the driveway to her house. The smell of fresh paint all but obscured the faint scent of marijuana in the air. She sighed. Deedee's loser husband Barry had been visiting. She'd have to fight with Deedee again. She scanned the front of the building, looking to see new paint. The porch light turned on as she mounted the first step and she heard Deedee call "Don't touch the railings, I've repainted them," and opened the door.

Deedee was a petite woman with dark hair and generous curves. There was a small amount of family resemblance to Gillian's sister Annabelle but little to Gillian. "How was your date?" Gillian held up the pizza box and Deedee laughed. "I knew it was bad when you were home at this hour, but you didn't eat?"

"I'll tell you the gory details after the kids are in bed." To her surprise, the kids were already in their pyjamas, watching TV. They were happy enough to share the pizza though. Once Deedee tucked them into bed, she and Gillian ate the remains of the pizza at the table in the tiny kitchen and Gillian related her encounters with the charming but strange Jim Kirk who lied every time he opened his mouth and his enigmatic but sincere friend. I'm out of time, he'd said. How could time travellers be out of time? He had sounded most sincere when telling the most outrageous statements. And seemed most awkward when attempting to act normal.

Deedee was fascinated. "So, you think he might be a time traveller from the future?"

Gillian frowned into her tea cup. "It sounds unbelievable. I guess I thought time travellers would be better organised but the other alternative is they are both certifiable. Which I suppose is a possibility."

"Are you going to go with them?"

"If they can prove they are from the future, yes. I need to save George and Gracie."

"What about Uncle Mike?" Deedee asked.

"Um, you could write him some letters from me. I know you know how to forge my signature." Deedee flushed red and her eyes dropped to the table. "I'm so sorry about that. You know I am. I'm going to pay you back. I redid the railings and I sanded them first this time."

"Did Barry help you?"

Gillian was surprised at her head shake. "No, that was my other news. He signed the divorce papers. And gave me full custody"

"That's fantastic news," said Gillian, delighted.

"Yes." Deedee bit her lip. "I mean, I had to be nice to him first and I told him you threatened to throw me out of the house if I didn't get them signed so he might come round to your work again. But he signed."

Gillian grinned. She was prepared to throw Barry out of the Institute as many times as necessary for him to get the message, assuming she was still here. She hoped Deedee hasn't let him knock her up again. She could start at Nursing School next year once her youngest was in school.

She'd write a few letters herself, she thought, saying the important stuff. She snuck a look at Deedee and wondered how she'd go without Gillian here to help her. She'd come so far from the night she'd turned up bruised and bleeding on Gillian's doorstop. Desperate for help but out of options due to all the times she'd stolen from her family. Even Gillian's parents wouldn't let her stay overnight anymore.

After another rehash of the day, she went to her room. The doorknob came loose in her hand. Barry must have jimmied the lock when he was here. She turned at Deedee's gasp. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I swear." Gillian pushed the door open, unsurprised at the mess in her room. All her drawers hung open, the contents rummaged through. The jar she kept loose change in was empty. She sighed, it would take a while to clean up, but she didn't keep anything valuable in there anymore. Not while Deedee lived there. She picked her way across the room, jiggling the drawer until it slid in, folding her clothes and stacking them in piles. To her surprise, Deedee, instead of whining about how it wasn't her fault, returned with a bag and picked up the broken pieces of the frame around Gillian's favourite photo. Gillian and Tony the morning he left for boot camp, arm slung over shoulder, grinning into the camera with the careless surety of youth.

As they were fitting the final panels in place the next morning, Spock heard Commander Scott yell "Admiral, we have a problem." And Kirk turned on the visuals to the exterior of the ship. Dr Taylor was yelling "Admiral Kirk, Can you hear me. I need your help" and banging on the landing gear of the 'Bounty'. Kirk beamed her aboard and Spock decided that qualified as contamination of the time line. He would not have to object if she came with them on their journey home.

"Hello, Alice. Welcome to Wonderland." Kirk introduced Dr Taylor to the ship. Spock wondered why he called her Alice, but the thought triggered a memory, one of the old ones not reinforced by the Reldai. One of his mother's favourite books, Alice in Wonderland had the heroine of the story fall into a strange world "Oh, it's true, what you said," breathed Dr Taylor.

"Yes it is. I'm glad you're here but I must admit you picked a hell of a time to drop in. Oops, take it easy. We need your help." Kirk helped Dr Taylor who had tripped getting off the transporter pad.

"Is any of this real?" Dr Taylor was gazing, amazed at her surroundings.

"Yes it's real, take a look." Kirk showed Dr Taylor the immediate vicinity of the ship, including where Mr Scott was assembling the walls of the tank.

"Storage tanks for your whales. We'll bring them up the same way we brought you up…"

She interrupted "Admiral, they're gone."

"Gone?" Kirk echoed.

"Last night I wasn't told. They're in Alaska by now."

Kirk turned away, head dropped. "Damn."

"But they're tagged like I told, you. I mean, you can go find them right?" Dr Taylor's distress pitched her voice higher.

"We can't go anywhere," said Kirk, despondent.

"What kind of a spaceship is this?" demanded Dr Taylor.

"It's a spaceship with a missing man," lectured Kirk, stung at the implication of criticism.

"Admiral, full power has been restored," Spock interrupted.

"Thank you Mr Spock."

He stood in front of her with his Vulcan features uncovered for the first time. "Dr Taylor. Welcome aboard." He could feel her shock from across the room. She had not had any idea. She forced the emotion down and turned her attention to the task at hand. Something any Vulcan woman would do without thinking, he found it arousing.

A transmission form Uhura regarding Chekov's whereabouts interrupted the conversation. "Admiral, are you there?" came Uhura's voice over the comm system.

"Yes Uhura. What's wrong?" asked Kirk.

"I've located Chekov, sir. They're taking him to emergency surgery now," Uhura reported.

"Where?" asked Kirk.

"Mercy Hospital" This meant nothing to any of the enterprise crew but Dr Taylor knew the location. "That's in the Mission District."

"They report his condition as critical; he's not expected to survive." Uhura's voice displayed her upset at this thought. Dr McCoy climbed the ladder into the transporter deck "Jim, you've got to let me go in there. Don't leave him in the hands of 20th century medicine."

Spock broke in, "Admiral, may I suggest that Dr McCoy is correct. We must help Chekov." Spock moved towards closer, catching Dr Taylor's attention at the same time. She couldn't stop staring and took a deep breath.

"Is that the logical thing to do, Spock?" Kirk asked

"No. But it is the human thing to do." Spock replied and Kirk responded with a relieved smile. "Right."

Kirk turned to Dr Taylor "Will you help us?"

She dragged her eyes away from Spock and looked at Kirk. Being the focus of her attention pleased Spock though he knew it was because she had never seen a Vulcan.

"How?" she asked Kirk but McCoy answered and garnered her attention "Well, we're gonna have to look like physicians." The three begin to plan Chekov's rescue.

As Mr Scott attempted to triangulate the radio transmissions from the Navy to transport Dr McCoy, Admiral Kirk and Dr Taylor to the Mission District, Gillian turned to Kirk with a query. "How many ships are collecting whales from this time period? Aren't they able to help?"

Kirk gave her an ingenuous smile. "It's an emergency situation. A probe from a race of ...Space Whales, I presume is attempting to communicate with the Humpbacks. Whatever method of communication they are using is disrupting the global power grid all over Earth and evaporating the oceans. People are dying and it will continue if we don't take back some Humpback Whales to reassure them. I'm sure there will be attempts to repopulate the species with preserved DNA..."

Gillian broke in. "You have a data bank of whale DNA? Is it just Humpbacks which are extinct or all whales?"

Spock replied "There is no data bank. I believe the Admiral speaks of attempting to extract DNA from samples of whale bone. All whales are extinct, some through overhunting, others from nuclear fallout…" He broke off at the discordant jangle of the keys Gillian drew from her pocket. "The Cetacean Institute has a DNA bank containing blood samples from over 1300 whales. I took many of them myself during my doctorate. The samples are in a cryogenic freezer unit, about 4 feet square. It you could connect them to power source here on this ship…"

Spock took the quick sketch she made of the location of the freezer unit, and performed the calculations to transport Commander Uhura to Dr Taylor's office in the Cetacean Institute. She used the communicator 3.2 minutes later and Mr Scott beamed her and the freezer aboard. It had not been a difficult assignment; the label on the front of the freezer matched the code Dr Taylor had given them. Mr Scott finished installing the tank while Sulu walked to Dr Taylor's truck. He removed the battery from under the bonnet and searched the cab for loose items. The joggers passed from sight and he signalled and Spock transported the truck into the buffers. The truck's pattern would deteriorate over time but might be salvageable. Spock sent the signal to fuse Chekov's phaser into a mass of metal then carried the freezer from the transporter to a cargo area where Mr Scott had attached the freezer to the truck battery which made an acceptable power source for the freezer. Even if it hadn't, fresh dried blood was a better source of DNA than dried bones.

o


	4. Chapter 4 Back To The Future

Spock monitored Uhura's updates while he performing his calculations, so he knew when the team beamed back outside the ship. McCoy and Chekov returned to their stations on the bridge, Chekov still wearing a hospital gown but Kirk did not enter, requesting a transport several minutes later. Spock was frustrated and requested Uhura show him the scene outside the ship but Kirk strode onto the bridge, Dr Taylor one step behind him before the screen changed. "Spock. Where the hell's the power you promised me?" Spock responded "Just one damn minute Admiral." Kirk wasn't going to get all her attention.

"I'm ready Spock, let's go find George and Gracie," came Mr Scott's voice over the loudspeaker.

"Mr Sulu?" Kirk asked.

"I'm trying to remember how this thing worked. Got used to the Huey," remarked Sulu, joking Spock hoped.

Captain Kirk turned to challenge Dr Taylor "You tricked me."

She gave a coy smile, arms crossed over her jacket and head lowered "You need me." She had gotten her way and knew it.

Kirk jerked his thumb towards the empty seat near Uhura and Spock marshalled his arguments. "Take a seat," Kirk said and she obeyed.

"Now, Mr Sulu," Kirk gave the order and the Bird-Of-Prey lifted off. Spock's occasional glances at Dr Taylor showed her wide eyed and staring aerial view of San Francisco passing beneath them in the front viewer. He concentrated on his calculations, the chatter of the crew routine, but noted anyway.

"Cloaking dewice is stable. All systems normal," reported Chekov.

"Stabilise energy reserve. Report helm," Kirk ordered.

"Maintaining impulse climb, wing five by zero. Helm steady," replied Sulu

"Advise reaching ten thousand. Steer 310," ordered Kirk.

"310, aye," came the response.

"Uhura, scan for the whales. Four-Oh-One megahertz."

"Scanning, sir, she replied and Spock sneaked another look in Dr Taylor's direction.

"Ten thousand MSL, Admiral,"

"Wing, cruise configuration. Full impulse power."

"Aye, sir. 310 to the Bering Sea ETA twelve minutes.

"Scotty, are the whales tanks secure?" said Kirk into the comm system.

"Aye sir, but I've never beamed up four hundred tonnes before," came Mr Scott's reply.

"Four hundred tonnes?" asked Kirk.

"Well, it's not just the whales, it's the water," explained Mr Scott.

"Yes, of course," Kirk spun the Captain's chair and stalked across the bridge towards Uhura, capturing Dr Taylor's attention on the way. "The whales, any contact?"

"Negative, sir."

McCoy left his seat and propped his hip against the console, leaning towards Spock. 'You present the appearance of a man with a problem."

"Your perception is correct doctor. In order to return us to the exact moment we left the 23rd century, I have used our journey back through time as a referent, calculating the co-efficient of elapsed time in relation to the acceleration curve."

"Naturally," McCoy remarked. "So what's your problem?"

"Acceleration is no longer a constant" Spock explained.

"Well then you're just going to have to take your best shot."

"Best shot?" asked Spock, perplexed.

"Guess, Spock," McCoy suggested.

Spock dropped his head, shaking it. The doctor did not seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. "Guessing is not in my nature, doctor."

"Well, nobody's perfect," McCoy replied, seeming amused by something. The entire conversation was confusing. There was no alternative; Spock would have to estimate part of his calculations.

On the other side of the room, Uhura's monitoring was successful and a regular pulse overrode the beep of the instruments. "That's it," said an excited Dr Taylor.

"Affirmative," confirmed Uhura. "Contact with the whales."

"Bearing?," asked Kirk.

"Bearing 327 range 600 nautical," reported Uhura, excitement creeping into her voice.

"Put it on the screen," Kirk said, turning to watch.

"How can you do that" asked Dr Taylor in amazement, prompting Spock to wonder why that particular piece of technology triggered her question. The transporter, a human invention, was more often the cause of similar questions but had passed without comment.

"Onscreen", reported Uhura, an unnecessary remark, the screen showed the sensor readings of the ocean surface at the source of the signal. A Humpback whale breached near its mate, Gracie, Spock knew. Relief flooded the crew they were closing in on their goal.

"Admiral, I have a signal closing in on the whales, bearing 328 degrees," interrupted Uhura.

"Let's see it," said Kirk, alert again. The shape of a ship appeared on the screen. Spock's knowledge of whaling vessels was minimal but he was unsurprised when Dr Taylor's answer to McCoy's 'What kind of ship is that?" was "It's a whaling ship, doctor." It was the logical answer.

"Are we too late?" Dr Taylor asked the question everyone wanted the answer to but no one could answer.

Kirk took the chair again. "Full power descent, Mr Sulu."

"Aye, sir, full power descent." The ship tipped and gravity pushed Spock forward, the inertial dampeners compensating for the thrust of the ship but not the angle they were flying at. Sulu still wasn't used to flying in atmosphere. At least he had kept the helicopter upright when he flew. Klingon ships artificial gravity generators bore no resemblance to the Federations and Mr Scott, not thinking they'd need them on their Earth bound flight, hadn't touched them. Dr Taylor closed her eyes and Uhura removed her earpiece as they raced the whaling ship. Spock's stomach threatened to empty itself.

"Ten seconds, sir," reported Sulu, adjusting the power and calculating.

The ship passed over the whaler and ocean and sky swirled across the main screen as they banked to hover over the whales. "How long, Scotty," demanded Kirk.

"Twenty seconds to focus, Admiral. The wee beasties are moving," replied Scotty and Dr Taylor inhaled sharply.

George, surfaced, the blow making a perfect target for the whalers to fire their harpoon. The harpoon launched, arcing across the view screen. The sound sensors of the outside recorded the metallic clang as it hit the hull of the ship, positioned by Mr Sulu between the whales and the harpoon trajectory.

"Alright Scotty, it's up to you," hinted Kirk.

"Ten seconds, Admiral," was the reply over the comm.

"Five"

"Four"

"Three"

"Two"

"One"

They waited, breathless, the metal of the ship creaking and groaning with the added stress of the whales.

"Admiral, there be whales here," came Mr Scott's excited pronouncement, earning him the delight of the crew, most evident in Lieutenant Uhura and Dr Taylor.

"Well done Mr Scott. How soon can we be ready for warp speed?' asked Kirk.

"Full power now sir," was the reply.

"If you will, Mr Sulu."

"Aye, sir. Warp speed."

"Mr Sulu, you have the conn," Kirk left the command chair "I'm going to take our guest down and have a look at our whales." Kirk grabbed Dr Taylor's forearm encouraging her out of her seat, before reconsidering.

"Oh, Mr Spock, had you accounted for the variable mass of whales and water in your re-entry program?"

"Mr Scott cannot give me exact figures, Admiral, so I will make a guess." Spock did not wish to admit he had to resort to guessing in front of Dr Taylor but he could not fail to answer the Admiral's question.

"A guess? You, Spock? That's extraordinary." A delighted Admiral Kirk left the room, arm in arm with Dr Taylor.

"I don't think he understands" Spock said in confidence to Dr McCoy.

"No, Spock, he means that he feels safer about your guesses than most other people's facts." A smile played around McCoy's mouth.

"Then you are saying… it is a compliment?" Then Dr Taylor would interpret it the same way, since she was human.

"Indeed it is," McCoy confirmed.

"Ah," said Spock. "Then I will try to make the best guess I can."

The ship tilted and clouds filled the view screen. The hum of the engines increased to an alarming level and the ships shuddered. It was Mr Scott's responsibility, so Spock kept to his calculations, refining his estimate of the weight based on the acceleration characteristics of the Bird-Of-Prey. A task made harder by the increasing movement of the ship once it left orbit. The display screen jerked beneath his hands as he entered the final data points. He had already programmed the breaking thrusters and adjustments to the course once the time travel journey was over. The ship would have to navigate by instrument to land in the ocean under the probe. Or where the probe was when they left. He had tried to take them back in time to the moment they left, rather than let time pass at the same rate in 2286 and 1986. That complicated the calculations by a large margin but it would be preferable to letting 28.39 hours pass while the probe was damaging Earth. Returning before they left was impossible, of course. The probe would damage the Bird-Of Prey's computer systems as soon as they came within range. If random circumstance favoured them, there would be time for the autopilot to correct their course, allowing them to glide into a survivable landing.

Admiral Kirk's shoulder slammed into the doorway, he held on with both hands to remain upright and staggered to the Captain's chair.

Mr Scott's voice "7.5…7.9…Mr Sulu, that's all I can give you," fought for audibility with the scream of the mechanical stress tearing at the ship.

"Shields at maximum," called Chekov.

"Can we make breakaway speed?" Admiral Kirk asked him.

"Hardly, Admiral, I cannot even guarantee we'll escape the sun's gravity. I shall attempt to compensate by altering our trajectory," Spock assured him.

"Warp 8," said Sulu. "8.1. Maximum speed, sir."

"Admiral, I need thruster control." Spock stated.

"Acceleration thrusters at Spock's command," Kirk ordered.

"Ready, Steady, Go." A faint memory told Spock the appropriate command. He aimed the ship towards the sun, heading to the salvation of the planet or fiery death, depending on the accuracy of his calculations. Black rose up and consumed him.

The darkened insides of the Bird-Of-Prey greeted his opening eyes. The tense, alert bodies of the crew were now slumped against the seats of their workstations. He checked the readout in front of him. Life support showed the whales and all human occupants were alive. He ordered a full diagnostic check and waited for the results. They were on the course for San Francisco Bay.

"Did breaking thrusters fire?" came Kirk's strained question, indicating his return to consciousness.

"They did, Admiral," Spock confirmed, looking at the screen, which showed Earth with a disrupted power grid, the cylindrical form of the Whale Probe still above the Pacific Ocean.

"Then where the hell are we?" Kirk demanded.

The lights dimmed and the rhythmic pulsing of the probes transmission sounded, freezing the readout in front of Spock.

"The probe," Kirk stated the obvious again. The ship shook and the screen in front of Spock's went blank, reappearing with the Start Up screen. The lights came on again but the view screen displayed only static.

'Condition report, Spock," demanded Kirk.

"No data Admiral, computers are non-functional," Spock responded, tapping at a responsive screen which went blank with no warning.

"The mains are down sir, aux power is not responding," reported Chekov. The speed of the ship increased, the Earth pulling the ship closer. Within atmosphere but a non-survivable fall at this height, Spock calculated. The inertial dampeners had automatic power but kept flickering on and off. He tried routing extra power their way whenever it looked like he had computer control. The ship swayed from side to side, no doubt inducing nausea in the humans. Spock adjusted his bio-controls and kept inputting the same commands into the computer.

"Switch to manual control Mr Sulu," Kirk ordered.

"I have no control sir." The lights dimmed again and red emergency lighting flooded the bridge, the computer displays flashing their last results or error messages.

"My god, Jim, where are we?" demanded McCoy, peevish as usual.

"Out of control and blind as a bat," Jim answered his worry evident. They were so close. To fail at this late hour would be…unfortunate. The ship slammed to the side as the wing control mechanism obeyed an errant command and their flight levelled out. Proximity alarms flashed on the screen in front of Spock and the ship rolled in response.

"Ground the ship. Keep the nose up if you can," Jim ordered and Sulu jabbed at the aileron controls. Perhaps they would move in one of the brief times the controls became functional. In atmosphere, the ship shuddered and changed position. Winds buffeted the ship, lightning flashed, a loud bang and the seams popped, water streamed in through the gaps, cracking a pipe which began leaking gas into the atmosphere. Not fast enough to kill them before the fall did. A hard slam and a bounce announced their brief landing. Sparks flew from electrical controls and red warning lights ran the length of the room. The crew was thrown from side to side as the ship impacted again. Not on solid ground, the ship listed to one side, sinking lower.

"We're in the water, blow the hatch," yelled Kirk and Spock obeyed. Kirk peered out the hatch and saw something familiar.

"This is the right place, Spock, now all we have to do is get the whales out of here before we sink. Abandon ship." He tried the comm system, "Scotty, can you hear me? Scotty? Dammit" Chekov and Sulu raced to the open hatch while Kirk forced the bridge door open using the manual controls.

"Move. Move. See to the safety of all hands, " he ordered Spock.

"I will," Spock confirmed.

He wondered how Dr Taylor was faring. She was not dead, he knew, but he could sense her fear. All the others were outside the ship by the time she arrived, pulling Mr Scott behind her. Wet and scared, she obeyed his order to climb the stairs and he followed her up.

Rain lashed at his face and the air was damp and cold, filling his lungs with water with every breath. He, Dr Taylor and Dr McCoy huddled together for warmth scanning the water and Chekov, Uhura and McCoy formed a similar group. The ship sank lower in the water until the wings touched bottom. A dull explosion which none of the humans seemed to hear above the howling wind and bubbles of air indicated a breach of the cargo bay. He extended his consciousness and felt Gracie beneath him. Odds were in Admiral Kirk's favour. Kirk surfaced and Spock crouched, reaching into the water and grabbing him by the arm, keeping his head above water for several breaths while he steadied himself. The wind pelted sharp drops of rain at their faces.

"Do you see them," asked Uhura, her voice broken and husky. Dr Taylor reached for Kirk's hand, helping Spock to lift him out of the water until something else caught her attention. "Ah," she cried in response to Gracie surfacing and slapping her fin close to the half sunken ship. She still held Kirk by the hand, which stretched across Spock, pinning him to the ship. Spock turned, hanging by his left hand and twisting. Kirk's hand slipped from Dr Taylor's, and he grabbed at Spock's elbow.

"There," pointed Kirk, having located George, who slapped his tail on the ocean surface.

"Why don't they answer? Why don't they sing?" Kirk lamented but from deep beneath the water came the distinctive song of the Humpback, alternating with responses from the probe. They stilled, listening and there was silence. The lighting on the Golden Gate Bridge blinked into existence and in the distance the lights of San Francisco were dimly visible. The built up emotions of the crew released itself in gales of delighted laughter, their joy capturing Spock. He was wet and freezing but they had saved the world. The torrential downpour ceased after twenty one point 3 minutes and the skies cleared to blue, allowing them to watch George and Gracie breach and play in the ocean, free and safe.

The joy infectious, Kirk pulled Dr Taylor into the water and the others followed suit, jumping in with glee. Spock climbed further up the stairs but Jim pulled himself onto the ledge, wrestling Spock into the water. It was not much colder; the loss of wind offset the colder temperature of the water.

**Author's note: It's amazing what you notice when you analyse something. Why is the ship at that odd angle when the ship is flying? I can't see a reason for it other than Sulu flies like that all the time and no one notices because of the inertial dampeners. I am just going to pretend every time I see him fiddle with the controls when not actively manoeuvring that he is making the ship fly upside down or sideways and no one notices because the cameras are fixed, so whatever way the ship is flying, that is up.**

**Sorry, must have hit copy twice when removing it from the full document.**


	5. Chapter 5 A Brave New World

The shuttle craft landed on the water. It was still even amid the waves and after a moment or so, Gillian saw it was hovering six inches above the waters' surface. The door opened and a ramp extended into the water. Two young men dressed in a red version of Captain Kirk's outfit exited the craft and assisted the crew of the Enterprise out of the water.

The earlier jubilation had calmed and everyone had gathered in close to the half-submerged Bird of Prey. It was cool and they were wet and glad of the prospect of being on dry land again soon. Gillian was the last into the craft but she had lived in San Francisco for many years and was used to swimming and diving in the Bay at all times of the year.

As she entered the small craft, her curiosity gained ascendance over her delight at saving George and Gracie. She squeezed in beside Mr Spock and took a good look at his ears and face. She suppressed the urge to squee and state "You're an alien." He probably knew that. And it was certainly annoying to her whenever someone told her "Dr Taylor, but you're a woman." She settled on a quick "May I?" before leaning in close. Then followed it with… "What planet? Are there many known alien races? Are there advantages to the ear shape compared to human ears or is the difference just aesthetic? What other differences do you have to humans?" The flow of question came to an abrupt halt as she realised that she wasn't leaving him time to answer.

Mr Spock remained calm and answered "I am a Vulcanian from the planet Vulcanis in the 40 Eridani A Star systems. It is 16.4516 light years away from Earth. The journey takes 4.27 days at normal travel speeds. Humans often refer to my species as Vulcans and use the term Vulcan for my planet. There are thousands of known alien species. Although Vulcan is a Class M planet and contains water and an atmosphere that is breathable by humanoids, the air is thinner and the gravity is higher. The ear structure channels sounds better in the thinner atmosphere but also provides Vulcans with better hearing than humans even in Earth-type conditions. Vulcans have copper based blood which is green in colour; they are also three times stronger than humans….."

Gillian moved to peer into his eyes. "But the veins in your eyes are red, not green. And isn't haemocyanin based blood inefficient compared to haemoglobin..."

"The copper has oxidised with exposure to oxygen. The copper atoms in Vulcan blood are bound cooperatively into protein complexes of six subunits resulting in a Hill coefficient of 1.6, which although lower than the Terran coefficient of 2.897 is higher than that of Terran molluscs and is compensated for by the increased strength and endurance of the Vulcan…"

A smirking noise from Admiral Kirk interrupted the flow of the lecture. Gillian turned toward Kirk and found her looking at the top of Kirk's head. His gaze fixed on her chest, outlined rather than covered by her pink jumper. Soaking in San Francisco Bay for fifteen minutes, hadn't made her lack of underwear less obvious; nor had the fact that she was cold. She flushed and shuffled backwards so she no longer pressed against Spock's knees. She opened her mouth to apologise but Dr McCoy's laughter cut her off. "Don't worry about that green blooded hobgoblin . He doesn't have normal human emotions."

Gillian accepted the silvery cloth proffered by the shuttle crew and seated herself on the seat, leaving a respectable distance between both Mr Spock and Mr Scott on her other side. She then turned her full attention to Kirk. He smiled and her stomach did its usual flip before she reminded it to behave itself. He was cute but she hadn't been born yesterday and she knew a player when she saw one.

"Welcome to the 23rd century, Gillian. How do you like it so far? And just so you know, they'll probably arrest us as soon as we land. "He cast a sideways glance at the weapon now held in the hand of one of the guards "If not sooner."

"Arrested? I thought you just saved Humpback Whales from extinction and saved the Earth from being destroyed by the probe."

"True, so with luck they'll go easy on us for that. However, prior to all that we were on our way to Earth to report for a court-martial. There are seventeen charges arising from a… an incident when we sort of stole a star ship, which later got blown up…."

"You stole a star ship and blew it up? I thought you were an Admiral?"

"I am. It's complicated. It all started when Spock here died…

The rest of that story kept them going until the shuttle docked at Starfleet Headquarters. Plus several minutes where everyone stood around and argued because the guards who came to arrest them weren't too popular with the adoring crowds who wanted to congratulate the heroes.

Medical won and whisked them off, under guard/crowd control to a quieter area where they were separated. A female nurse helped Gillian into a large cubicle and tuned on the shower which was warm but to her surprise had no water. According to the nurse, it worked using sonic pulse vibrations. She peeled off the semi dry clothes but regretted it as the nurse was shocked, then fascinated by her scars. Gillian placed her hand where her appendix had been and asked "Don't people have their appendix out anymore?"

"Of course" replied the nurse. "But there's no scar afterwards." Gillian flushed deep red. She had heard the woman in the hospital crowing about her healed kidney. Of course medical science had advanced. It must use lasers and scanners and miracle pills. Surgery and needles were things of the past. She was wrong about that, of course, as she was soon to find out. Anne, Nurse Bremer, was a complete professional and the awkwardness faded after she bought Gillian a robe and asked about the surgical scars on her knee, the appendectomy scar and the two on her back from the accident. It came back again though, after what seemed like every Doctor and nurse in the building had been past to ooh and ahh over her like she was a zoo animal. Gillian made a mental note to apologise to George and Gracie if she got the chance. By the time the medical staff had scanned her with every piece of equipment they could find that scanned and immunised her for multiple diseases she couldn't even guess at, she was sick of the whole place. The weird food with the texture of jello and the generalised insulting of her time period didn't help the overall atmosphere. Plus she was bored.

Dr Hardwick had returned with a scanner which he said was different to the identical looking scanner he had used on her knee and was trying to explain why he needed to scan an old healed injury again when Spock arrived. After assessing the situation, he inquired whether the Doctor had softened the scar tissue and given Dr Taylor a pill to promote better healing. Upon hearing that she had, he handed over a set of clothing. She emerged, dressed in an outfit that was similar to the blue uniform he was wearing but with no insignia, to find that the doctor had left.

"You are not a prisoner here, Dr Taylor. Would you like to explore the Academy?"

"I would love to,"

Spock held the door as they exited into a maze of corridors. People passed them, casting curious looks their way, either they were on duty or the stern presence of her companion scared them off. Most were humans but they passed a blue skinned woman with antennae protruding from her stark white hair whom Gillian found it difficult not to stare at. "An Andorian," offered Spock. "They are one of the four founding members of the United Federation of Planets. Earth and Vulcan along with the Tellarites, make up the remaining Founders. We are in the human section of the medical wing. Members of other species will become more common as we enter the general area."

"I take it you are not a prisoner also, because you were dead during the crimes?' Gillian's voice was amused. Although Kirk had been serious when he described the events leading to their meeting, some of it had been, difficult to believe, to say the least. Even to a woman who had travelled 300 years forward in time in an alien space craft that morning.

"Indeed"

"But the others are imprisoned?" Gillian was concerned. Although she did not know them well, they were the closest thing she had to friends. Mr Scott had already given her permission to call him Scotty.

"After some discussion, they are in an Ambassadorial suite with a single guard. You may rest assured that they're not suffering. It has been an action packed day; I assume that they are resting. Mr Chekov's wife and son and Mr Sulu's wife have visited them. I have organised a room for you at the Vulcan embassy and Vulcan citizenship if you wish it.

"Vulcan citizenship?" Gillian wondered why she would need such a thing. Wouldn't she be a citizen of Earth?

"Yes, there is talk of sending you back to your time zone..."

"Back? But I want to stay here."

"Indeed, I deduced that you would. Unless you merely wanted to be sure of the Whales safety…"

"And spend my life wasting time on a job with guaranteed failure? I assume that whales become extinct in my lifetime?"

"Yes, the last recorded sighting of a Humpback whale was in 2015. Well within your natural lifetime, barring accident. I have also searched records for any mention of you. I found no newspaper records of your disappearance or death certificate. The Eugenics War and World war III resulted in the destruction of many records so it is not a definitive answer. I did find several of your research papers and 15 anti-whaling news articles, plus your arrest record.

Gillian gave him a sheepish grin. "I was younger then, I believed in civil disobedience."

"As a person with no citizenship, you are bound by the decision of the Federation Council. If you accept Vulcan citizenship, Vulcan will provide you with legal counsel."

"Are there any downsides to Vulcan citizenship?" At his lifted eyebrow she elaborated. "National service, it's compulsory to live on Vulcan...? I want to know what I'm getting into before I sign up."

"There are no conditions like that. Vulcans are a pacifistic society, we value individual freedom. You will lose your right to vote in Terran elections but once things have settled in the political sense, you may find that you can receive Terran citizenship once again. Vulcan is a member of the Federation of Planets, so you are still able to vote on Federation matters."

"In that case, I accept." Captain Spock's calm manner and sincere demeanour had instilled a sense of trust in Gillian.

"I will contact the Vulcan Ambassador again and allow him to proceed with the application." Spock opened a small rectangular object and spoke into it in an alien language. Gillian watched, thrilled. When the conversation was finished, she smiled at Spock and said "Alien language, and I'm to be an official alien. I think I might have a sciencegasm.

His speechlessness was lost on Gillian as they turned the corner and entered the Ambassadorial Atrium. Damage caused by the Probe was still evident in the twisted support beams near the window but that didn't take away from the spectacular view of the Bay. From so high in the futuristic structure, the view of San Francisco Bay was amazing; as was the number of alien species represented in the workers and Ambassadors. Gillian's speechlessness disappeared after a moment or two and she quizzed Spock for the name, planet of origin and a few salient facts of each of the species visible. Afterwards, Spock suggested a meal. The jello had been revolting so Gillian agreed.

"That would be fantastic. What do they eat here…now. I know you don't like Italian."

"Cuisine from many different cultures is available." Spock walked to the door leading to one of the many dining rooms, this one an open terrace with a Bay view. Despite the elevation, the air was temperate and a slight breeze blew. Gillian reached her hand above the railing and encountered resistance. The air distorted around her hand like rippled glass as she swirled her hand over the surface. A force field then, but it differed from the one around the ship she had run into. Permeable, to let the breeze in and it didn't need to be strong enough for space flight, just to stop people falling over. Or, she looked up as a shuttle passed overhead, maybe enough to repel a falling shuttle. She turned her attention back to Mr Spock who was waiting beside one of the machines dotted along the inner curve of the room and rushed to join him.

"This is a food processor, you tell it what you want and it will make it for you."

"That's amazing, is that how everyone eats?" Gillian was intrigued but didn't have the slightest idea what to order.

"Automated food processors are expensive, not everyone can afford them, although many people have them. They are standard on star ships, government buildings and restaurants. Others receive food from centralised depots."

"You may order for me Mr Spock. I will be adventurous and try some Vulcan food if it is suitable for humans. A glass of orange juice also." Spock ordered a variety of small dishes containing Vulcan foods and they grabbed a table overlooking the Bay. Apart from Spock's description of each dish and the ingredients in it, they ate in silence for a while. "All the foods you mention were fruits and vegetables, Mr Spock, are you a vegetarian? "

"I do not eat animal flesh Dr Taylor."

"For ethical reasons? or metabolic? Just you or all Vulcans? Do you just avoid meat or all animal products like rennet, milk, eggs?" Gillian flushed again. "I'm sorry. I'm not even giving you a chance to answer. I am curious about everything."

"Curiosity is natural Dr Taylor, you need not apologise. To answer your questions, many Vulcans are ethical vegetarians. It is not mandated. It is up to each individual to determine what they consider an ethical path. My own father used to be a total vegetarian but after he married my mother he added milk to his diet as she cooks using milk."

Gillian fell silent. Not much had changed then. She'd been hopeful upon meeting Lieutenant Uhura that sexism had faded away. The mood was fleeting, however and by the time they had sampled all of the dishes, Gillian was smiling and asking questions again.

Afterwards, they toured Starfleet Headquarters for several hours with Spock as guide, Gillian as Chief Inquisitioner. Spock must have noticed her gait and the ever present flood of questions slowing. He guided Gillian to the cadet room assigned to her, leaving her with a PADD and several programs and their associated instructions. She asked permission to go for a run on the beach in the morning and received his recommendation as to which one she would most likely find empty in the pre-dawn hours and a quick tutorial on how to use the PADD to navigate.


	6. Chapter 6 The Waiting Game

**Time for some notability: When I watched the end of The Voyage Home for the first time I honestly expected Gillian to walk off with Spock. When I discovered fanfiction I realised I am apparently the only person in the world who thought that. During my searching though, I did come across "Gillian Weep Not" by Linda McInnis which is the closest I've come and which uses the other obvious idea between Spock and Gillian. I had to leave time between reading it and writing some of the upcoming scenes, so hopefully nothing is too reminiscent. I have deliberately used Spock's POV not Gillian's.**

The special council session ran late into the lunch hour. It should have finished earlier than scheduled since Gillian's Vulcan citizenship cut short the demands that Gillian be returned to 1986 to restore the time line. Several delegates still felt the need to argue their point after Ambassador Sarek refused to have a Vulcan citizen extradited. Then they proposed adding a violation of the Prime Directive to Kirk's list of crimes.

Spock joined his friends in their luxurious prison for lunch and found Gillian ensconced on the couch beside Jim Kirk who was regaling her with the story of how he came to be Star Fleet youngest ever Captain. Kirk was grinning like a school boy and going into what Spock considered unnecessary detail, Gillian's whole attention fixed on him. She was ignoring even the live feed of the Humpback Whales the Terran Science Institute was broadcasting planet wide, playing on the far wall. Sulu and Chekov had half of their attention on the story, which they must have heard several times, the rest on the card game they were playing. Mr Scott reclined on a stuffed easy chair, his full attention on the reports on his PADD.

Spock updated everyone on the mornings' session and took advantage of the break in the story to inquire as to Gillian's educational requirements. He was gratified to see she had completed the GED test, with a score of 95%. Analysis of the result showed the incorrect answers all related to history later than 1986. She must have listened to the overview of the major events of the history of Earth Spock had downloaded to the PADD but it had not been comprehensive. He congratulated Gillian who smiled and replied that she was glad she had not failed; it would have been too embarrassing. Spock produced the Starfleet enrolment documents but Jim snagged the PADD from his hands and proceeded to describe each subject complete with amusing anecdote about his time in the class or what fantastic grade he had received.

Gillian's announcement she was going to return to her room and study before anyone arrived to confiscate the PADD and return her to the 20th Century was greeted with dismay by Kirk, but her departure was blocked by the return of Commander Uhura, accompanied by an official who all but pounced on Gillian and whisked her away to obtain her version of events. She did make sure to drop the PADD on the counter behind a potted plant. Spock hadn't needed to tell her those elements of the Council who wished her returned to 1986 were against her learning any knowledge which could cause tampering with the time continuum.

They fell into a routine, where Spock joined Gillian on her morning run, checked her educational progress, which was excellent, left her to study in her room, and accompanied Sarek to the Federation Council meeting then joined everyone at lunch, which often ended two or more hours later. The Enterprise crew were restless in their confinement. They were on Vulcan for 3.23 months and wanted to start their lives again.

Kirk was intent on seducing Gillian but he had to be quick or Hikaru would beat him to the conversation. Their brief stay in 1986 had not cured his interest in the past. His interest in the minutiae of Gillian's everyday life equalled his thrill in her skill base. It became common for Spock to arrive to find all the furniture pushed against the walls and Gillian giving lessons in 'Rock and Roll' dancing. Gillian and Hikaru were the most competent team, because Hikaru and Yoshiko would practice during her frequent visits. Kirk used the dancing as an attempt to lay hands on Gillian or to flirt with Irina or Nyota. Pavel and Katya took the middle ground with Pavel's time divided between his wife and daughter. Mr Scott announced he was not drunk enough to dance so he didn't except for the day when Gillian finished her coursework early and arrived with some Saurian brandy and a determination to get him on the dance floor. After a fierce battle to 'Shake Your Tail Feather', Scotty and Nyota came second in the Enterprise First Annual Rock and Roll competition.

"You might have won this year, but I'll get ye next year laddie" threatened Scotty. "You wait until I've had some actual practice."

"Hikaru and I shall practice too. And be more awesome" announced Gillian to the room, patting Sulu on the knee.

Kirk didn't like losing, so he broke in with "It'll be a different hobby next year." At Gillian's puzzled look, he smiled at regaining her attention and informed her. "Hikaru has a new hobby every shore leave; botany, fencing, flying antique aircraft, antique weaponry, judo."

"That doesn't sound like many hobbies," said Gillian, head tilted, "with an expanded life span, I'd expect people to have more hobbies, not fewer. "

Kirk wrapped his arm around Gillian's shoulder. "What do you do in your spare time?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. "Sailing, scuba diving, dancing, knitting, reading, embroidery, and I play the guitar. In the past, I've tried piano, crochet, surfing, and horse riding but none of them stuck. I've never tried judo, although I did do a self-defence course once. Perhaps, Hikaru, you could teach me some." She smiled in his direction and received a grin in return.

"I was brought up on a horse stud" cut in Kirk. "Perhaps you could come and we could go for a ride, if we don't end up stuck in here forever." Gillian frowned. "I am a terrible rider" she said. "It's my mother's fault. My father adores my mother and never said anything bad about her, except "Gillian, when I danced with your mother I had to open my eyes to check she was still there. It was like dancing with a feather. You'd have thought she would be a natural horsewoman, but in reality, she sat on a horse like a sack of wheat. After six months, I had to ask her not to keep telling people I'd taught her to ride." General laughter greeted this statement. "But I'd be happy to visit, if you can stand my lack of skill. I'd love to see some country."

Although Gillian had decided on attending the Terran Science Institute, Spock was an instructor at Starfleet so he enrolled Gillian in Starfleet courses. She could transfer them to the TSA for full credit later. She started a new subject every two days; listening to the lecture tapes whilst running on a treadmill, knitting once she had obtained the necessary supplies or playing computer games. Large parts of the basic science classes she had enrolled in covered information she knew in more detail, updated to remove the Terran habit of naming everything after the scientist who discovered it and replaced with Federation standard terms. He administered the examinations himself, but did not upload them to the database to make them official until the morning the Council announced it had made a decision.

"It is the decision of the council that the time line has not been hurt by the removal of Dr Taylor. There is no indication of the temporal incursion. Either Dr Taylor would have died in an accident or the Eugenics War and World War 3 have masked her influence on history. Since she is now an official citizen of Vulcan which petitioned on her behalf, and she has been exposed to a significant level of cultural contamination, it seems the Prime Directive would be violated by returning her to 1986 and better served if she remains in her current position. Dr Taylor, we have persuaded Berkeley to issue you with an honorary doctorate. We have also assembled a schedule of lectures at varying institutes of learning and functions. We would appreciate if you could write down anything you remember from pre-WW3 literature about Humpback whales. It will be of great assistance to the science team who will be attempting to repopulate the species using the samples you brought back with you…"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." Gillian interrupted, from her seat in the bank of chairs facing the committee in one of the many identical courtrooms housed in Starfleet Headquarters. "I don't need an honorary doctorate. I have an actual research doctorate based on my contribution of original research to my field of science. They do not, to my knowledge, expire. Furthermore, there have been few contributions to my field since then and I have read all of them. I am the most qualified person in the field of Cetacean biology. I have enrolled at the Terran Science Institute and have five credits there. I will be busy in the next few weeks taking the practical courses which are required. I am aware of the gaps in my knowledge from the passage of time, but I expect by undergoing retraining, I will fill them in. I will not have time to waste with this useless make work you have dreamed up. May I go now?"

"You are going back to University?" the spokeswoman, a tall blonde woman with dark almond shaped eyes queried. "That will take years."

Gillian was puzzled, uncertain whether they were mocking her. "I have the rest of my life. And it shouldn't take that long. I doubled majored in biology and molecular biology in three years, my masters took six months since I had so many of the pre-requisites done and my doctorate took eighteen months which is less than the seven years most people take. I could get a doctorate in a different field by the time I was 37, maybe less since I wouldn't have to work three jobs to pay for it. Captain Spock tells me my education is free and it includes lodging and food and I will be paid a stipend." No one commented but several members of the Council exchanged sheepish glances.

"Dr McCoy tells me he retrained with Starfleet after becoming a medical doctor." Gillian broke the silence, her nerves replaced by an insulted attitude. They weren't sexist, she told herself, just supremacist. They looked at the year she was born and thought how much smarter and better they were than people from the 20th century. Who did they think had dragged the population from ignorance to knowledge, stupid people? Everything they did, everything they knew built on scientific research from a previous generation. She forced a smile.

"The population is not smarter now because the top ranks are smarter" she continued. "The average would have risen because of the number of under educated, undernourished people who were given a decent level of lifestyle. There'd be more clever people per head of population, but the cleverest would only become more so through stimulating education or selective breeding." She avoided the term Eugenics. "Of course, opportunities count too, my cousin Deedee achieved the highest mark in the state and third highest in the country on her Grade 10 matriculation exam with a minimal education and a poor attendance record. Being a girl and having no money, she got married at sixteen and stayed in an abusive marriage for years. Bit of a waste."

She took a deep breath, swallowed her annoyance and said in her sweetest voice. "Can I take the opportunity to say how pleased I am to see so many female faces up there on the Committee? I'm so glad to see how many of you decided to follow my example. When I joined the Climate Change Committee, I was the only woman, and one of two on the WWF board."

The Council spokeswoman gathered her scattered thoughts and tried to regain control of the conversation. "We accept with regret that you decline our offer. Perhaps some of your more persistent petitioners may send you individual offers to attend events and lecture which you may work into your schedule."

Gillian smiled and inclined her head. "I will send my details which you may pass on to official bodies. No press please, they have sent me thousands of messages. There are so many I stopped checking days ago. I am setting up a Blog which should get them off my back. Feel free to check it out. Thank you and goodbye." Gillian smiled, waved and left the room with Captain Spock close behind her. The trial of the Enterprise crew was now able to begin, without an additional charge relating to the Prime Directive.

They reached Gillian's room, and Gillian replicated juice for them both. Mr Spock had been her guest at dinner so often she knew his preferred drink. Gillian took several shaky breaths and pushed her nervousness away broaching the subject that had been nagging at her for days. "Mr Spock, you have been so kind to me."

"It was not kindness. After taking you from your own time period, we are obligated to see to your wellbeing." Gillian blinked at having her thanks thrown back at her but she reminded herself of what Jim had told her of Vulcans and logic. "I am thankful anyway. Then you will not mind if I ask you for another favour."

"What need do you have that I may fulfil."

"In 1986, you said Gracie told you she was pregnant. I assume you used your psychic powers to communicate with her."

"You are correct. I am a touch telepath. That is why I entered the water to communicate with Gracie."

"Could you tell me what it was like?" Gillian leaned forward. "You must understand. Talking to George and Gracie mind to mind would be the culmination of my life's work. In fact, I never dreamed such a thing was possible. I would love to talk to them, to discover their feelings, to apologise for keeping them prisoner. "

"A mind meld is not the same as a conversation. It is more a sharing of minds, thoughts and concepts. There are no words." At Gillian's disappointed look, he explained. "However, it should be possible for me to help you form a meld with George and Gracie."

Excitement filled Gillian, "I'll do it. Can we go now?"

"Caution would be appropriate, Dr Taylor. There are dangers inherent in a mind meld. Linking with another being can be seductive and it is possible to lose yourself in the meld. Vulcans practice for many years to hold their minds separate during the meld. You have a degree of telepathy which is high for a human but if anything, it exposes you to greater danger. Many sentient beings find the meld unpleasantly intimate at least when it is as deep as this one will need to be."

Gillian was both intrigued and terrified. He would have to be in her mind to perform the meld. Would know her thoughts and emotions in a way few people ever had. Could she handle it, the loss of privacy? What would it be like, being in a mind meld with an alien being? Would it be better or worse than melding with a human? And with Captain Spock, who, although pleasant, bore an air of superiority with him wherever he went? She thought of his knowing all her most private thoughts, the ones she was ashamed of and almost dropped the idea. Then she scolded herself. This was a once in a lifetime offer and she wanted it. If the price was being open to Spock in such a manner, then that was the price. She accepted it or declined. If it was too awkward afterwards, then she could not see him for the rest of her life. It was a big universe. And besides, she would perhaps get to see something of the enigmatic Captain Spock as well, and that could be interesting.

"It is worth the risk, Captain Spock, will you do it for me?" Spock inclined his head. "I will make the necessary preparations and contact you at the appropriate time."


	7. Chapter 7 Trials and Tribulations

Ambassador Sarek's dark robes rippled as he walked the long straight corridors of Starfleet command accompanied not by his aide but by Dr Taylor. He had arrived at her apartment early, finding her dressed in her new uniform, her ship posting confirmed overnight. Spock had requested that he asked the Doctor to accompany him to the trial, and he wished to know why. If Spock was, as Sarek had suspected, interested in the Doctor, why did he not accompany her himself?

"Have you been an Ambassador long?" she asked, gazing at him in wide eyed fascination. Not an uncommon reaction in human females, Sarek was used to it.

"Indeed, on and off since 2212. My wife and I come back every few years to visit her family." As many had been before her, Gillian was entranced. "Your wife is human, or a Vulcan born on Earth?"

"She is quite human, Dr Taylor." By rote he pushed his desire for Amanda's company to the back of his mind. They had never been apart from each other this long before. He would be with her again in four days, longing wouldn't change the distance it would just make the time away from her less useful.

"You may call me Gillian, if you like," Gillian said in an absent tone of voice. "So you are married to a human, like Spock's dad?"

"I am Spock's father," Sarek corrected, wondering if he had been incorrect in his suspicions about Spock's attraction to Dr Taylor. Perhaps he was just overseeing her education as he claimed; every night for the last seventeen days. It was of no consequence, he enjoyed Gillian's company, she reminded him of Amanda when they first met, energetic and brimming with enthusiasm, emotional but her actions spoke of a rational mind. She had adapted to the time displacement well, accepting her demotion without complaining, which would be illogical.

"Oh," she replied, nonplussed but rushed on. "So, are there lots of Human /Vulcan hybrids or just Spock?"

"I cannot give you an exact number, but between two and three thousand," he said.

She blinked, "That's more than I thought." She turned her intense gaze on him again and he fought the urge to squirm as the full force of her katra brushed against him. Vulcans learnt to control such things but it was a not uncommon consequence of dealing with untrained humans. He had learned to shield against the constant battering.

"Do the Vulcan genes always dominate, or did you ask for that specifically?" she asked. "I suppose the genetic engineering would easier if the baby resembled one parent species more than the other."

"It is," he confirmed. "We did request that he be Vulcan in appearance since we lived on Vulcan," And they wanted the best child they could have.

"So, do humans and Vulcans have the same number of chromosomes, or different like horses and donkeys? Are hybrids fertile with either species or just one? And it's odd about Spock's wife," Gillian said.

"Humans and Vulcan both have the same number of chromosomes. They are some examples of second generation cross breeding but it requires extensive genetic manipulation. And what is odd about Spock's ex-wife?" asked Sarek sure that Spock would appreciate the clarification.

"Commander Uhura tells me she's a Vulcan. I would imagine that Spock, growing up with a human mother would have sexually imprinted on humans, not Vulcans. In order to preserve genetic homogamy in humans, children fashion a template of the parents' phenotype to be used in mate acquisition. The more emotionally supportive the relationship between the child and opposite sex parent, the stronger the imprinting." Gillian frowned. "Like with birds, when you put eggs in the nest of a different species. They grow up and want to interbreed with the species that raised them. If Spock's relationship with his human mother was close, then I would have imagined he would have chosen a human spouse. Of course, there is sexual deviation in lots of species, humans and ducks have a lot of it, and you married outside your species. Maybe if we become better friends, I will ask him about it. "

"Spock." He nodded as his son's long strides caught him up as they entered the main corridor near the courtroom. Spock's pointed avoidance of his gaze confirmed his opinion that Dr Taylor had called him a sexual pervert. "I was an astrophysicist before I became an Ambassador. There is no need to lower the tone of your explanation on my behalf," he added to Dr Taylor, who looked chagrined.

"You were not in your room, when I came to fetch you Dr Taylor," said Spock.

"Ambassador Sarek came to pick me up early. We took the scenic route," she replied with a smile.

Doctor Chapel met them inside the courtroom, a large rectangular room with seating down both long sides filled with Federation Ambassadors of many species and red coated Starfleet personnel. "Spock, Ambassador Sarek, and this must be Dr Taylor. I'm pleased to meet you. You may call me Christine." They exchanged normal human courtesies with Dr Chapel offering Dr Taylor any help she might need navigating the 23rd Century. The Council entered the raised platform at the head of the room and the chairman called them to session, putting an end to further conversation.

The rest of the trial proceeded without further comment. It turned out Gillian was capable of sitting still if she was interested in a subject. And it wasn't unpleasant, although it was unexpected when she gave him a fierce hug after the verdict. It was the verdict he expected. Debate had raged long and fierce about James Kirk's fate after he disobeyed a direct order to retrieve Spock's body from the Genesis Planet. Sarek had enough contacts in the diplomatic world to receive updates on each day's debates, even if they banned him from the council rooms as thought he was unable to separate logic from emotion. The decision to let Kirk keep his rank but not his ship, to divert him to some low status ship in an unimportant part of space was a compromise between those who thought the ends justified the means and those who thought Kirk a dangerous cowboy. Saving the Earth from destruction at the hands of the probe should lessen the punishment.

He lingered near the exit, expecting Dr Taylor to speak further to his son but she instead walked to Captain Kirk, spoke for a few minutes then kissed his cheek, and understanding dawned. The teachings of Surak forbade Spock from pursuing Dr Taylor while she was engaged in a courtship with another. Vulcans had learned long ago where the weak spots in their logic training were and this was the most dangerous. They had an entire ritual ending in death to deal with it because once it reached that stage, it had to. A Vulcan in Kirk's situation at the kal-i-fee would have commenced fighting upon regaining consciousness and not stopped until he or his opponent were dead.

Kirk did not accompany her, waiting out of human hearing range for Spock. Spock watched the interaction without comment and then joined Sarek, who took the opportunity to iterate his change of opinion, not an apology, on his son's career.

T'Pau poured the tea from the pot into the fine china cups, something she had not done in some time. The lower ranked Vulcan served and few people outranked T'Pau. High Priestess T'Sai sipped the tea and ate the warm chewy bread in silence, a hospitality ritual that predated Surak. Shadows danced through the decorative grates at the windows, relics of a time long past when the designs cooled the hot desert air in the heat of the day, concealed air conditioners took care of air temperature now. Meeting in T'Pau's personal sitting room was an indication of the friendship that had arisen between the two women during the years. The ornate decorative robes they worn denoted their respective positions on society. The ritual was soothing, helping with her anxiety. A personal visit indicated news of importance and Spock was the most probable cause of that news.

T'Sai waited until First Attendant T'Lind gathered the cups and plates onto the tray and left the room before she spoke, piquing T'Pau's interest. Attendants were honour bound not to repeat anything overheard in the course of their duties.

"We do not speak of such things, but such things exist, regardless." She referred to Sybok, of course.

"The acolyte T'Sil joined us at Gol after the severing of her bond. Many do, for a period of years before leaving and making a suitable match advised by their Elders."

T'Pau inclined her head in response to this statement. She still kept track of the girl who would have ruled the clan after her had events proceeded in a logical fashion. In a clan so devoid of daughters as Surak's the First Wife often became matriarch and T'Sil had married Sybok assuming she would be T'Pau's heir. T'Pau had considered a match between Spock and T'Sil after the debacle with T'Pring but T'Sil had remained a priestess. T'Sai's next words confirmed her suspicions.

"She travelled off world often. There was not a full year she spent on Vulcan. She sent regular updates and never defied me, but she was never available to assist any of our priests in their Time." She stopped talking and silence filled the chamber. "At the beginning of the year, I sent for T'Sil and gave her orders to deliver a message for me. During the conversation, I mentioned I foresaw Sybok's death before the year was out. She came to me this morning and told me she is pregnant. We will raise the child here at Gol as a Reldai. The healers say it will be a boy."

Fate was not a concept Vulcan's believed it but since the discovery of Time Travel, the Vulcan Science Institute had reassessed the talent some Reldai had to predict the future. Once considered an illogical, unreliable skill, the possibility that they could see the time stream, see a possible time stream or were receiving dreams from future time travellers had to be considered. They were still theorising, currently it was up to the individual to divulge their vision or act on it as they considered logical. The accusations of illogic had ceased.

"You honour me," replied T'Pau. "I will keep your words in mind as I make decisions that affect my clan." Logic said the reason T'Sai had called her here was to pressure her to take her preferred course of action. T'Sai intruded far into Clan Matriarch territory here.

"I did not come here to instruct you on how to rule your clan. I have made attempt to bend the course of events to my will and I have been wrong as often as I have been correct. I failed to see the damage my acolyte T'Rea did to her son because her vision of his great destiny meshed with the visions I saw. I supported your decision not to sanction the marriage between T'Amanda and Sarek because I believed a child of theirs would look more human and thus could not be one of the figures I saw." T'Sai dropped her gaze.

"I saw a vision of terrible destruction. The specifics are vague, changing, but if T'Sil's child is not present, I foresee that the universe is in danger of being destroyed, every life wiped out. My visions have changed since the first one, so the world is not doomed yet, the child will take his father's place. He may not survive the experience but a death which saves lives in the process is a logical one." If she did not visit the child, no affection would form between them and T'Pau would not suffer through another severed bond.

"There is more," she said and T'Pau was intrigued.

"My visions are not stable, but one of the figures in my vision was a girl whose looks favour Sarek. Your clan may increase after all," she continued.

"That would be a desirable outcome," T'Pau said.

"Our business is concluded," T'Sai said, but made no move to leave. She touched her hand to her ear in an absent gesture, as though unaware she did so.

"I have seen a healer. He has estimated my life expectancy without treatment is five years. I will undergo treatment of course, but if it is not successful, I need someone to have this information. It is possible the treatment itself will cloud my mind for months, it may be permanent."

T'Pau replied "That is most disagreeable news." It would happen more frequently from now on, as her contemporaries aged. It was fortunate that she had not let a t'hy'la bond form between them, although she had considered it.

"Would you like to stay here while you undergo treatment?" she made the logical offer, why else would T'Sai disclose her health problems. She could claim hospitality from her clan but she had no close family left. Romulans had captured the ship her family was traveling on during the war. The stress of so many broken bonds had induced a miscarriage in her already shaky pregnancy and came close to killing her.

"That would be agreeable," T'Sai said and her eyes softened. "Thank you."

"Thanks are illogical," T'Pau replied. "You are my friend."


	8. Chapter 8 Uncharted Waters

Spock waited on the beach for Gillian to return from her morning run, the brisk salt laden brisk tugging at his uniform. It was the one thing which had never faltered in her routine, no matter how overcast the weather was. Her shadowed form appeared at the far end of the curved sand. He suppressed his rising excitement at the sight of her, although he needn't have bothered. He could tell when she became aware him; she faltered and her gaze flicked beyond him, for an instant. Her hesitation was brief however and she smiled as she walked towards him. Not her full, light up her face smile, but pleasant nonetheless. As she drew close, the gentle energy of her aura surrounded him.

"Dr Taylor" he greeted her.

"Captain Spock. How are you?" she smiled and relaxed as they went through the human rituals necessary for politeness.

"I am well. And you" he kept his voice modulated.

"I'm fine." She did not sound fine, she sounded sad or worried.

Spock broke the brief silence. "It is a convenient time for me to help you merge with the Cetaceans. Is it convenient for you?" He had checked her study schedule and she had no practical lessons and had also determined Captain Kirk was seeing another woman for dinner. He was reasonably certain she would not have made other arrangements. Two weeks in the confined space of a science research vessel on the open sea combined with working the hours she had demonstrated whilst living at the embassy would have her in an emotional state requiring significant alone time. Her ship had arrived late the previous night and he planned to arrange their …task… for the afternoon.

"Yes. They have sent us home, so some super-secret experiment can be…" Her face lit up from within, stirring a pleasurable emotional reaction from Spock. "Is it us? Can we go now?"

"You do not wish to prepare?" He had thought she would be hesitant but instead she was keen and reckless.

"I have been waiting for weeks, Captain Spock. I'll do whatever you say-please!" Gillian shivered, although Spock was not aware of making any movement. He chided himself; Gillian must have caught the emotional reaction her words had engendered in him. Offering him whatever he wanted in return for the mind meld. Underneath his reinforced logic control was still the pre-reform Vulcan that he had been born, who would love to accept her offer.

"What do you have to do?" Dr Taylor's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"To form the link, I must touch your psi points." His hand reached forward and touched them one by one. "Then I will link our minds and we will join with the whales so we can communicate."

"Must you touch George and Gracie too?" Curiosity and enthusiasm were the emotions he could detect in her voice and he wondered if she understood what the meld would entail. "It is possible I might be able to re-establish the link to Gracie if I was near enough but some weeks have passed so the odds are low. I have arranged a boat for us today. You may pack whatever you like."

"I am ready now," she said.

They walked to the dock, Spock answering her endless questions. She started with general questions on facets of 23rd century life which still puzzled her but soon moved on to Spock's upbringing. Most people did, Spock's parents were a famous couple. Dr Taylor was, however, content with descriptions of his day to day life on Vulcan, not broaching the more private subjects which many Humans were happy to ask people with whom they had little to no relationship.

Once they had reached the watercraft, he stood back as Dr Taylor accessed the coordinates of the whales, entered them into the navigation system and piloted the craft out of the marina. Her movements were sure and without error, if slower than the Ensigns Spock was used to supervising. Soon they were on the open sea with the autopilot engaged. Dr Taylor walked to the bow of the ship and stood for several minutes watching the waves, head tilted back to face the sun.

Spock wanted to initiate a conversation, but hesitated, reluctant to interrupt. He had spent weeks planning this trip. Avoiding the many scientists who had wanted to accompany them had been the most difficult part. He did not fault their curiosity but since he was using the trip to begin his courtship of Dr Taylor in earnest, he had been adamant on the subject of their exclusion.

He had spent as much time with her as he could, while waiting for the trial, sacrificing sleep to do so. He thought he had done well. She was happy to see him and seemed to enjoy their conversations. Even Kirk, his rival for her affections had been generous with his praise of Spock's accomplishments. His efforts had seemed in vain though, the day of the trial when she had kissed Kirk and left with a smile as she passed him. However, Kirk had also failed to win her affections and she had not given him her contact details. A piece of information which Spock, and to his knowledge, no other, had. When it came time to write to her, he had not known what to say and had sent her a copy of his latest paper on sub space anomalies. In return, she had sent him direct links to her blog, which he had already searched out.

"Captain Spock, may I ask you a personal question?" Dr Taylor asked, biting her lip. "Indeed" Spock replied. He was wary, Human privacy boundaries were huge but since the purpose of this voyage was to become closer with Dr Taylor, he would try to answer it. "I was wondering how old you were. I was watching an episode of 'Enterprise' and I was surprised when T'Pol revealed her age. I know she was an actress but I found a picture of the original and she looked as young. Until then I had been assigning human age to you." Spock was relieved at the question. His age was a public record and his birth had been the subject of media attention at the time. "I am 52.6 Terran years old; still young for a Vulcan. My internal organs seem to be aging in the same manner as a Vulcan, but my external appearance does seem to parallel that of a human."

She walked closer and inspected his face. "Photodamage by the ultraviolet light, you must have human skin, not Vulcan. You should have used more sunscreen. Of course that was before your death. You must be older now than you were before to gather the same amount of damage. Offset by your not having sustained any other damage to your body in your short second life." She displayed impersonal curiosity and remained half a step back from him, careful not to touch him. She seemed to realise the direction his thoughts were taking since she and ducked her head. "I am trying not to put my foot in my… I mean to avoid any interspecies insults. I think I insulted your father when we spoke. I sent him an apology but I haven't heard back."

"There is no insult where there is no emotion, Dr Taylor and he spoke well of you in our most recent communications. It is probable my father's secretary intercepted the message, deeming it irrelevant."

Dr Taylor seemed relieved at this. She asked him to point out 40 Eridani and he did. The conversation flowed from there. Several hours past in pleasant conversation before Spock realised his error. The conversation had touched on many topics of mutual interest; science of course, the socio-economic status of Earth and Vulcan, Spock's career under the command of Captain Pike. What it had not touched on was anything personal. Still explaining the issue in the upcoming Federation election, Spock considered why. Dr Taylor sat beside him, her head tilted towards him, her expression rapt in his every word. A habit of hers, listening to people, and then asking them intelligent questions that made it clear she had been listening. Most people didn't, they were too busy planning what they were going to say when it was their turn to speak. No wonder most people liked her. They could talk to their heart's content and walk away happy, not realising how much of themselves they had revealed to her and how little of her they had seen. Most of them would not care but Spock did, he wanted to know more about her, to become closer.

At the next gap in conversation, he introduced a subject which he had calculated would obtain personal information without his seeming intrusive. "Dr Taylor, in the course of my research, I found several people listed as close relatives of yours. You indicated to Captain Kirk that you had no family. Could you please clarify the relationships? The records division is most interested." A small crease furrowed Gillian's brow before she answered "I meant I was single and had no children. I wouldn't have left a husband or child."

Spock was shocked, familial bonds were important to Vulcans. "You left your parents and siblings to believe you had vanished?"

"I told my cousin, who I live with, what I planned the night before and I wrote a letter to my father, saying I was taking a super-secret job which I implied was with the military. My father was a soldier in the war, he wouldn't ask any questions." She shrugged "The rest of them probably won't notice. We're not close." Good manners would not let Spock ask why but after a brief pause, she peered at him from beneath her lashes and continued. "My fiancé broke it off with me and married my sister."

Spock hoped she was not still obsessed with this person. "Had you hoped to get him back?" Gillian turned her face from him. "No, they were a much better match than we were. We shouldn't have gotten engaged in the first place, but I couldn't think of a reason to say no." Spock remained silent. He had observed that humans would rush in to fill conversational space. "I came to Christmas a few years later and admired their beautiful house, their expensive car, his fancy medical diploma, their gorgeous baby and committed the cardinal sin. None of it impressed me. I watched him boss her around and was glad it wasn't me." The ghost of a smile drifted across her face.

"How it that a sin?" Would he have understood this before the fal-tor-pan? He wasn't sure, but Gillian explained further "I stepped out of my role. I was supposed to jealous of her and pining for him, regretting my decision to throw away marriage to a wealthy doctor for the life of a poor grad student. Instead I was excited about my upcoming trip to Rome. It completely deprived my mother of delivering her planned sympathy. So she gave it anyway." That made some sense but not a lot.

"You did not wish for marriage and children" Spock probed. It would make his courtship of her easier if she had no desire for children, but he hoped she was not opposed to marriage. "Oh, I love children and want several, its marriage I wasn't keen on. At least marriage as I could see it. Men say they want an equal marriage but they don't. They all just assumed if there was a conflict between my career and theirs, theirs was more important. Most assumed I wouldn't be working anyway, I'd be staying home with the kids, letting my education go to waste scrubbing the floor and cooking dinner."

Dr Taylor threw him a smile and asked "So, did you really get your brain stolen?"

"No," he said, accepting the subject change. "But I cannot reveal what did happen. It is classified information. Starfleet releases censored versions of the security footage to the media Department and they manipulate the video and fill in the gaps before the broadcasts. For example, any time the fleet assembles somewhere they always say it is in the Laurentian system, which does exist but is a non-inhabited system of no military importance."

Spock let her control the conversation, he had learnt a lot about her but not much of it had pleased him. He resolved to be a better husband to her than her faithless fiancé would have been.


	9. Chapter 9 The Best Laid Plans

Spock could tell Dr Taylor was restless, so he expressed the intention to meditate in preparation to the meld. Instead of exercising, she sat in the bow of the ship, watching the ocean, letting the sun play over her face as she listened to the cry of gulls and the slap of the waves against the hull. She was so still he thought she was asleep, but when he extended his psychic presence toward her, he could tell she was awake, in a relaxed but alert state, similar to meditation. They stayed that way for several hours until the proximity alarm sounded at the approach of the whales. She flung herself upright in a state of alert excitement, racing to the helm to set the anchor system. Spock stripped off his uniform to reveal the wetsuit beneath.

Spock prepared for the meld. Dr Taylor stood before him, face uplifted, her entire attention on him. He placed his hands on her psi points and pressed his mind against hers. Everyone resisted the first time, it was instinctual and Dr Taylor was no different. He pressed against her mind once, to give her a warning, then forced against her mental barriers. She resisted, panicked, then let her barriers drop and their minds merged more than he had intended. The greatest risk of a meld was that one person's katra would become degraded and hard to keep discrete and Gillian had put them at greater risk of this by dropping her natural barriers so suddenly. Panic washed over Spock, overwhelming him, but he drew on his training and separated his katra from hers. Gillian's panic receded, replaced by wonder and curiosity.

Images and thoughts flowed between them, random or prompted by some thought of Gillian's. Spock had no control, all his concentration was on keeping Gillian's katra discrete and forming the mind linkage.

_The harsh beauty of Vulcan stretched out before him. You must learn to control these emotional outbursts of yours, Spock. I-Chaya is dead because you couldn't control yourself. A scream torn from her throat as she stood in the bow of a bobbing boat in the Sea of Japan as the sharp metal blade of the harpoon slammed into Harpo's side, red blood pouring from the wound as he thrashed. His fingers entwined in Nyota's hair, their breath mingling between kisses. I'm sorry you had to see that Gillian, but you can't blame me. If you were more of a woman I wouldn't have been tempted. The announcement his fiancé would rather cause his or her lovers death than marry him, a despised half breed. The look of amazement in the little girls face as Gillian introduced herself as Doctor, not Miss. You must take your place in Vulcan society, joining Starfleet will not help achieve that goal. Snuggling into his mother's embrace before bed, he would tell her he was too old tomorrow. What are you going to do for money? We can't afford for you not to work. We have to save for your brother's education. He'll be the first Taylor to graduate from University. They are my friends. Pain from the stitches dulling her senses, she was in hospital, how could she check on his cat? Try to cross brains with Spock, he'll cut you to pieces every time. The salt air, the movement of the ocean, she was far from land and the petty demands of people. Here she mattered. You can't afford the luxury of being anything less than perfect. If you do, they lose faith, and you lose command. Just remember, if it doesn't work out, you can always come home. A pretty girl like you can always marry a doctor if it's important to you. The United States Government regrets to inform you... I have been, and always shall be, your friend. Standing in the church watching the man she loved marry another. Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out. Standing at the podium at Berkeley and feeling the pride in her father's eyes as she gave her speech. It's better for you, it's better for them. Whale song as George and Gracie played in San Francisco Bay free from danger._

He withdrew his mind from hers and broke physical contact but the meld remained in place. Joy swelled in him as never before and he knew it to be Gillian's. Tears ran down her face not from sadness but the overwhelming level of emotion she was feeling. Desire burned through him; a longing for the completion and oneness they had shared but also physical desire; an erotic lust for her flesh that had until now been contained. Spock's control of his body kept such sensations under wrap but Gillian had no such ability or desire and he was experiencing the world in a new sensual way. He struggled to push the sensations away, turning his thoughts to the next step, adding the whales to the meld. If he added George first, the natural meld between George and Gracie and his prior meld with Gracie might bring her mind into the gestalt. He placed the breather over his mouth and nose and reached for the face mask, bracing himself to enter the, to him, freezing water. He would need to adjust his biological controls…

Before he could react, Gillian laughed and leapt into the ocean, sinking without trace into the dark water. Spock was horrified for an instant before suppressing the emotion and running to the side of the boat. He cast out with his mind at the same time and was reassured at feeling Gillian in the distance. He pulled on the link, urging her back, but she fought him. George and Gracie joined the meld and his sense of Gillian's mind faded. He grasped her mind tightly, determined not to let her go but she struggled and her mind slipped away, until he could feel only the whales. He flung his leg over the railing and dove into the water, eyes squeezed shut. With no mask, the salt water would irritate his eyes and blur his vision to uselessness. He swam down, if she was lost in the meld, she wouldn't be swimming. Nothing, unsurprising, she must have touched the whales to initiate the meld. He began a search pattern. It was all but useless in the vastness of the open ocean. He called to her, trying to force her back.

A dark shape loomed beside him and he felt the rubbery skin of a humpback brush against him, slamming him sideways. Whale song rumbled through the water and he attempted to explain the problem to George. He touched the edges of the whale's mind and grabbed at his flipper. George twitched and Spock's hands tore loose from the whale. Spock searched the link, feeling for her presence but found nothing. Forcing down his panic, he search it again and found the slightest trace of her; a tiny speck which was not whale which he grabbed and prodded at. Forcing open his eyes a crack, he saw a blur of white, floating limp and still and kicked himself towards it. His internal clock told him 57 seconds had passed since she entered the water. Her body would be aching from the lack of oxygen. He hooked his arms under hers and raced for the surface.

George breached under him, slamming the breath from his body, lifting him. He compressed her chest as they left the water, expelling the remaining air. Water dribbled from her mouth and her head lolled but she took a deep shuddering breath and George dropped away leaving them floating on the surface of the water. Spock cupped his hand under her chin and swam to the boat, ordering the full descent of the ladder. He climbed the ladder, Gillian a dead weight in his arms and dropped her on the deck, collapsing beside her, sucking down the oxygen rich air. Nausea washed over him as anger and relief fought for dominance.

Her eyelashes flickered open and she whimpered, a soft cry of loneliness and he gathered her to him. Tears streamed down her face onto his cheek. She laid her head on his shoulder, nuzzling into him as he carried her to the couch in the state room. Water dripped unheeded in puddles on the floor. Spock stroked her hair and closed the link, ending the meld; or tried to at any rate. It wouldn't close. It was in situations like these Romulan curse words were useful.

Experimentally, he tugged again, but his conclusion was inescapable. Gillian now occupied the space in his mind where once T'Pring, Zarabeth and, most recently, T'Para had been. It was impossible to remove a mating bond from your own mind. A skilled Reldai could do it, if both parties were agreeable and the bond was not too deep. He had asked T'Pau to remove the residue of his bond to T'Pring before returning to the Enterprise, to be sure. He forced the bond closed as far as he could; it would be undetectable to an untrained mind. Gillian cried out her dismay and curled her arms around her knees, pulling into herself and closing her eyes.

He set the autopilot on a return course and settled into a light state of meditation, considering his options. Gillian stirred after 12.3 minutes and pushed herself upright. She smiled at him, a shy seductive curve of her lips. "That was the most awesome thing ever. I've never experienced anything quite like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart Spock. I hope we can do it again, one day." She stood and walked to the door, removing her shirt and dropping it on the floor. "I think I'll take a shower to get the salt water off. You can come and scrub my back if you like." He watched her naked back until the door closed, then hung her shirt on the hanger. He could not, in good conscience, accept her offer, however much he might like to. The probability the meld had affected her thought processes was too high.

It was a promising sign. He would contact T'Pau and ask for her opinion. His goal was to get Gillian to agree to be his wife. What therefore was the point of having the bond removed then getting it put back again? Would it be enough to keep it closed during the courtship?


	10. Chapter 10 Of Mice and Men

The chime interrupted the poker game in Jim Kirk's apartment. Four chairs surrounded one of the square transparent tables in front of the fire. The two smaller tables held an assortment of drinks and snacks. It was a real fire, an expensive indulgence which burnt real wood and required a separate vent in the 'chimney' above it to filter the smoke. Jim crossed the room to his workstation and punched in his personal code, taking his cards with him so Bones couldn't accidentally knock them to the floor. Gillian's blonde head appeared on the screen and his mood lifted. "Hi Jim, my ship got in this morning and I'm trying to round up some company. Nyota told me everyone was at your house today."

"You've interrupted our poker game. Bones, Scotty and I are trying to teach Spock how to play again." Gillian grinned and replied "Good, I was hoping you weren't all avoiding me, I've left messages all over town and no one's gotten back to me."

He offered her his best charming look. "How about dinner? 1800 at my place?" Gillian smiled and accepted, taking his coordinates and promising not to be late. Jim couldn't help smirking at the other men in the room as he returned to the table. He pulled Spock's peanut bowl toward him, ignoring Bones' scowl. He'd be eating lettuce for the rest of the week, but it was worth it. They finished their game with Scotty taking home most of the chips, including all of Spock's. Excellent at calculating the odds, what aptitude he'd had for detecting when the others were bluffing had died in the engine room of the Enterprise.

McCoy and Scotty left, after making a smirking Jim promise to tell him the highlights of his date with the delightful Dr Taylor. Spock, despite his prior claim of work to do, picked up the cards, turning them over and sorting them. Kirk perused the menu of his favourite caterer and selected Salmon, Caesar Salad and Lemon Meringue Pie while Spock watched, expressionless. There had been a revival of interest in 20th century culture since Gillian's arrival, so the menu had changed. "What do you think? Will that put her in the mood?"

Spock's face was the blank mask it had been since his rebirth. He stared and ventured, "I am uncertain why my opinion would be relevant. The food is nutritious, if high in calories." Jim sighed, wishing for his old friend back. Spock had never been easy to read, but he had improved a lot since they had first met, and now it had all snapped back. Spock rebuffed all his attempts at friendship. He'd all but ordered him here today after learning that Spock's plans were to meditate on the ship for his entire shore leave. He suspected Uhura had something to do with Spock's sudden acquiescence to leaving.

"I thought you were involved with Lieutenant Fairbanks," Spock said and Jim detected disapproval. Spock had invited the programmer to the 'Enterprise' two weeks ago to consult on a problem with the ship's computer, to Jim's delight. She was a tall stunning redhead with pouty lips and a knowing look in her eye. She'd accepted his invitation to dinner and his further invitations later that night. When he had asked her for a second date, she had laughed him off, saying she'd had fun but was looking for something serious. He could be serious, dammit. Okay he had a bit of a reputation, but there was no harm in having fun while you were looking. In fact maybe it was time he settled down. Maybe Gillian was the one for him. All he had to do was convince her he wasn't just after a one night stand. "It didn't work out," he said.

He moved around the apartment, setting the lighting system to lower gradually over time and placing flower arrangements the florist delivered. To his surprise, Spock watched and adjusted the flower arrangement, they must be 1mm off straight or something, but at least he refrained from comment on the illogic of it all. Encouraged, he asked "Blue shirt or white," and received Spock's 'Humans are illogical' stare complete with raised eyebrow.

Spock insisted on leaving before Gillian arrived but as he headed for the door, the chime announced her early arrival. They exchanged pleasantries and Gillian expressed her thanks for some favour Spock had done her. He tweaked the arrangements one final time then moved into the main room and greeted her himself. In contrast to his expensive blue suit, she wore the white jean and shoes she had left the 20th century in, paired with a grey wrap around top with her pale purple uniform undershirt. "I feel overdressed," he said. She smiled and smoothed the dangling tie. "I'm officially a Vulcan now," she said. "I get to wear my jammies around and pretend they're proper clothes. " He laughed, and decided to buy her a nice dress and have it delivered before their next date.

Spock took the opportunity to slip out while Kirk kissed Gillian on the cheek and seated her on the couch. "How has your day been?"

"It's been great," she said, eyes twinkling. "Hikaru picked me up in a Huey this morning. The guy who owns it let him fly it in return for meeting us both and listening to a few stories. So I got in before the ship."

"The calf is going well, meeting all her milestones. They're having a competition to name her." Jim would have to be dead not to know that. If the news feeds were any judge, it was more exciting than the departure of the whale probe. "We're taking design applications for artificial gestation units. I favour the floating design myself, but some of the committee think it would be better to have several fixed units running simultaneously…" She broke off midsentence, with a rueful laugh. "Sorry. I don't mean to go on. I've done nothing but talk whales since forever. It's been wonderful. Like a dream come true."

"Want me to pinch you and wake you up?" he asked and she recoiled in mock horror. "No, let me sleep."

"What did you do after your joy flight?" he asked.

"Hikaru gave me a Judo lesson, until Yoshiko joined us for lunch," she said. "Then we took turns driving my truck around until the police pulled us over and we had an argument about whether I was licenced or not. There's no such thing as a driver's licence anymore but I'm allowed to drive if I have a pilot's licence but no experience driving a truck." Kirk rolled his eyes in sympathy. "The date on my licence is a little out of date, I admit, but I can drive. Anyway, long story short, I showed him how to change a tyre and he filled out the proper forms so I am now an official learner flyer and I can drive my own truck if I have a pilot with me to, I don't know, offer sympathy, or something."

"I have a shuttle licence," offered Jim, laughing, "If you need someone."

"I've seen you drive," she said with mock severity. "So what's been happening on the new improved 'Enterprise'," she asked, stretching out her legs.

He caught her up on the happenings on the ship with an amusing story made her laugh and segued into another story which did happen to involve him being awesome and saving the day. And in getting the girl, but he edited that part out. All up, a pleasurable half hour passed before Kirk suggested they begin dinner.

The evening took a distinct downturn when Gillian asked "But shouldn't we wait for the others? Where is Spock anyway, I'd have though he would be back by now?" Which was the awkward part where he realised the invitation Gillian had extended had been for a group outing not a date. He smiled at her though "I thought we could have dinner by ourselves." Gillian looked bemused, but was soon talking and smiling again.

Low, seductive tones of Aldebaran jazz thrummed through the apartment. He took Gillian's hand in his, urging her to her feet and waltzed her around the room to the slow rhythm. The curve of her cheek was visible in the moonlight streaming through the picture windows. His breath tickled her ear when he whispered the name of the artist and she gave a soft laugh. He slipped his hand from her waist to the curve at her back and drew her closer. She swayed in his arms, in time with the music.

She relaxed against him and he pressed his lips against hers. "I don't think…" she began.

"Don't think," he urged her. "Just feel the music," and bent his head again, tasting the champagne on her lips.


	11. Chapter 11 The Tease

Spock opened his eyes, restlessness tugging him out of his hard won meditation trance. It had taken him hours to achieve the second level and now he had lost it again, he was struggling with First. The heightening of his senses however, informed him of some important change. Gillian was close by. He followed the pull, which led, to his complete lack of surprise to the beach. She walked along the sand, shoes in hand, lost in her own thoughts.

"Dr Taylor" Her head rose at his greeting and she smiled in his direction. It was not all for him though. He recognised the starry eyed look women had after Captain James T. Kirk had charmed them. Jealousy rose thick and caustic in him, urging violence, wiping away the effects of the evening's meditation. Only her presence here, alone, helped. If Kirk had been there also, enjoying a romantic after-sex walk, he didn't like to think of the result. Where was Kirk? "Surely Captain Kirk would have called you a taxi, you didn't have to walk."

Gillian smiled "He offered but the night was still young. I chose to walk. I was restless and thought the exercise might help." Unspoken questions hung in the air. Spock was desperate to ask why she was here instead of still on her date. More to the point, he wanted her to say she had left because she was not interested in Kirk, although her demeanour said otherwise. He could not, however, think of a subtle way of extracting the information from her. Since no formal agreement existed between them, he had no right to any information on her private life and he was too Vulcan to ask without it. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, and then Gillian spoke, "Are you up for some company, Spock?"

"Of course" Spock motioned her up the stairway to his apartment in the Vulcan Embassy. He was uncertain what to say, this was not a situation in which he often found himself. Gillian inspected the room with interest, taking in the red drapes lining the walls and his remaining art works. She was not a fan of his Chagall and showed little interest in it, focusing instead on his statue of the Vulcan war god and his collection of traditional weapons. He listed them and gave a brief history of each as he prepared a traditional drink for her. She wrinkled her nose as it hit her tongue but sipped it a few more times.

She had dropped her sandy shoes on the sonic mat and sat with her feet curled under her on his couch, while he took the individual seat across from her. The silence, companionable at first, stretched before Spock, waiting for him to fill it. He didn't think he's ever been good at this.

"Are you here in San Francisco for long?" he asked.

"A week," she said. "That's what George and Gracie agreed to, one week on then a week with no ships allowed near them. They don't mind the camera buoy. It's slower than they are so they can leave it behind whenever. I have some practical tests for the next two days and then a round of lectures. Then three days leave for me, so I'll have a chance to study some more. Most of it should be interesting, although I do have to attend Sensitivity Training so I don't go around making racist remarks or something."

"It can be helpful to learn to deal with a new culture," he offered. "I have been four times."

Her eyes widened and she sat forward "Once is compulsory, how come you had to go the other times?"

"I was required to go after complaints were made about my insensitivity to Human cultural norms," he admitted. He was trying to show her his desirable traits, not confess errors he had made, but he couldn't steer the conversation the way he wanted it to go. Perhaps he should have enlisted Uhura's assistance, language was her forte.

"Like what?" she asked, intrigued.

"I was unfamiliar with human nudity taboos. I gave my honest opinion when asked about a personal matter and I attempted to make a joke to Ensign Rand."

"The one about Captain Kirk's evil twin?" she asked.

He confirmed the answer with a curt nod. She showed him her dimples again and said 'I bet there's an interesting story about the first one." He attempted to defend himself "I was told that the exercise facilities were unisex, they did not specify they meant inside the cubicles," and watched her throw back her head and laugh.

"Oh, you poor thing," she commiserated, still chuckling. Spock was frustrated, he wanted her to laugh but not at his expense. This would be so much easier if he could have T'Pau make the arrangements. Of course, that would increase the odds of her saying no.

"So why aren't you in space?" she asked and he leapt on the subject change. His position as First Officer on a Starfleet vessel was his most singular achievement and it was not boasting to discuss it.

"The Enterprise-A is not Space worthy yet. Building will not be complete for another month and then it will need a shakedown cruise. Until then I will be in orbit around Earth or here at the Embassy." An added challenge which he did not need in his courtship, which was not progressing with the speed he desired.

"I'm so glad you didn't lose all your possessions when the 'Enterprise' exploded," Gillian said. Spock was confused, why would that affect her mood?

"The 'Enterprise' was a training vessel. The majority of my personal possessions were here in my apartment," he said. "Vulcans are not encouraged to acquire possessions to excess."

She smiled at him. "You're a man after my own heart. Or a Vulcan, I should say."

"Indeed. You take the trait to new levels, Dr Taylor." The transporter had disgorged her truck and the contents of it with little damage, but she had not known that, and had left her old life behind with only the contents of her pockets.

"All things considered, Mr Spock, you may call me Gillian if you wish. I'm afraid I am the unsentimental daughter of a very sentimental mother. I can't help it. I've been this way since I was born," she said, fiddling with her heart shaped necklace.

"You were not close?" he guessed, from her defensive tone of voice.

She gave a sad smile "No. My mother only sees what she wants to. She still can't understand why I didn't marry the first boy who asked me and settle down to keep house. They never paid much attention to me while my brother was there, anyway."

"You parents favoured your brother?" he asked.

"Of course," she said in a surprised voice. "He was the boy they had been waiting for, after three girls, the heir to the family name." She gave him a questioning look, which he didn't understand. "Aren't you your father's only son, heir to the House of something unpronounceable by humans? Nyota said your family is important."

"Vulcan clans are matrilineal. My grandmother T'Pau is the Head of Clan S'chn T'gai. I am her heir after my father. If my father were to have a daughter, she would supersede me. My confirmation as his heir when I was three was an indication they were not going to attempt another pregnancy," he explained. Sarek had not planned to have another child who might challenge Spock's position, but that had changed now.

"Which he could, if he remarries after your mother dies, I mean, of course, if he outlives her." Intellectual curiosity gave way to remorse by the end of the sentence.

"It is probable, given their respective lifespans that he will outlive her. And he will be young enough he will be required to marry again." He stopped. The subject of why Sarek would need to remarry was taboo among Vulcans. The Vulcan Council had been displeased with the Spock when it had become public knowledge, although Spock had been against it and protested to Starfleet. Gillian appeared to have been educated on this subject, though, she nodded her understanding.

"Well, you have to imagine there are three of you boys and then your father has a full blooded Vulcan daughter. That's what it was like when my brother was born." Spock tried to imagine his mother turning away from him, to another child. It was impossible. His mother's love for him was one of the constants of the Universe. Gillian seemed to find it natural. Of course, she had been two at the time.

She smothered a yawn and he became aware of the lateness of the hour. He still did not wish for her to go. She was his bond mate and he wanted her nearby.

"You may stay here for the night, if you wish, Dr Taylor" She cast an uncertain glance around the apartment, assessing the offer and he reassured her 'You may be sure I will not make unwelcome advances towards you." She laughed "I trust you, Spock. I'll need to borrow something to sleep in, though."

He took a uniform from the wardrobe where he kept his clothes, five ordinary uniforms and two dress alongside his meditation robes, two ceremonial Vulcan outfits and two sets of civilian clothes, and removed it from the hanger. He placed the folded outer clothes on the shelf and offered her the undershirt, shorts and hanger. He hoped she would take the hint

He adjusted the temperature and added covers to the bed, folding them double so she had a single layer and he had five. He emerged from the shower, finding her sitting in bed, inspecting the woven red and gold coverlet. "Don't worry, Spock, your modesty is safe with me, I promise I won't look." She paused, then added "Well unless any of the weird rumours I hear about Vulcan physiology are true. In that case, I'm totally looking." Spock decided she was mocking him, especially when he hung his robe in the wardrobe, revealing he was dressed in a uniform undershirt and shorts and she pouted.

He ordered the lights out and soon heard Gillian's breathing fall into the rhythms of sleep. His presence did not affect her as hers affected him. He burned for her, craved her with every fibre of his being, his thoughts were drawn to her constantly, he obsessed over her every word and in return, he thought she liked him. Or perhaps she was only grateful to him for helping her to mind meld with the whales. It might be worth it to propose to her. If she rejected him, he would at least know her feelings. It would be over. He imagined what it would be like to stare at her face and see dismay writ there and shelved the idea for the moment. What had she done when Kirk had propositioned her? Had she said yes, or no? He couldn't tell. The early hour seemed to suggest no, but the possibility of a yes was causing jealousy to burn through him. Perhaps she had not, but planned to after several more dates. He ran through a meditation exercise until his teeth unclenched.


	12. Chapter 12 The Pursuit

**2310 Pacifica**

Screaming would have been a waste of time. Her only advantage was speed so she ran as fast as could down the centre of the road. She heard footsteps behind her. She tried to cut the corner through the park and realised there was a fence. It was low, so she grabbed the top with both hands and vaulted over, then raced across the flat, surface, dodging playground equipment in the standard layout and vaulted the fence on the other side too. Vacant road confronted her so she started running back to the apartment, full out, leaving nothing in reserve. Fear sped her feet. It was darker back here and she feared she would trip and fall.

The road ahead curved turning her away from her goal. She cursed. It wasn't the road she'd thought it was. She considered asking for help at one of the buildings, but was in a commercial district. Most of the buildings would be unstaffed at night. She thought she heard a noise and threw herself to one side, into a warehouse loading dock, set in from the street. Closed up, it was a square blind alley, with no escape route other than the way she'd come in. Her heart was pounding so hard she wasn't sure she would hear any external sounds.

Now her own breathing had moderated, she thought she could hear someone else breathing quietly, careful precise steps coming closer. She didn't know whether to break and run or to stay put and hope he didn't find her. She waited in the dark, unarmed and helpless.

The quiet footsteps came closer and then stopped. Would he shoot her? Was this her last moment of existence? A shadow, ears stretched into long exaggerated points, reached towards her, then shrank and retreated as its owner passed her by.

Gillian flattened her body against the wall and waited. He resumed walking and she stayed in her hiding place, letting him go ahead. She listened to the fading footsteps, so intent she didn't hear the footsteps behind her. She turned, too late "Gillian, my beloved." And felt the warmth from his long lean body. She recoiled from him, stepping back.

As he spoke, Gillian tensed her fist for an attack, but before she could strike he pulled a disruptor from his pocket. He lifted it and laid it against her forehead, wrapping his other hand around her throat. Gillian felt sick with terror and the ground swayed. He doesn't want you dead, she reminded herself, pushing the phrase 'a fate worse than death' from her mind.

"I guess I'm not as smart as I thought, huh. Otherwise I'd have killed you when I had the chance. How's your nose?" The green bruise ran from his jawline across his long straight nose. He must have taken the time to set it. She'd heard the crunch as it broke.

"Shut up," he jammed the disruptor against her. "You can't kill me, you belong to me."

"If that was true, you wouldn't be able to kill me either," she pointed out logically. His fingers tightened on her throat and she gasped for breath. He mightn't mean to, but if she upset him too much while he was this agitated, he might kill her by accident.

"Beg my forgiveness" he demanded.

Words wouldn't hurt her and might calm him down. Of course, it might give him ideas, too. He pushed the disruptor against her forehead and she made her decision. She summoned her best submissive demeanour and apologised. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I was scared. Please forgive me." Her voice quavered without any effort on her behalf.

It sounded fake to her ears but he seemed to buy it, his fingers loosened, trailing down her throat to rest on her shoulder. A light flickered in the back of his eyes and he relaxed a fraction "On your knees."

"What?" Shit, it had given him ideas.

"Get on your knees and apologise properly." He removed his hand from her shoulder and stepped back, allowing her back to leave the wall. One hand rested on the fastening of his pants. Gillian leant forward a fraction, as though ready to kneel and kept her eyes downcast.

"You are mine. Not his. You belong to me," he said, his voice thick with desire. Her stomach roiled with revulsion. Gillian kept her eyes downcast; she could never keep emotion out of them, and began to whimper.

"Now," he demanded, tugging at his pants.

Gillian responded by crying harder and lifting both hands to cover her face. The hand holding the disruptor fell to his side. Gillian curled her left hand and lunged forward, slamming her fist into his throat. He made a choking noise and reeled back, unbalanced. She slammed into him and he fell to the ground. She fled. Disruptor fire crackled as she bolted to the right around the first corner she came to. She could hear his running footsteps so she took the next corner as well. Damn, it was to the right, she'd have to do something different, or they'd circle around. She took the next left turn, then a right again. She kept her runs short so he wouldn't get a shot at her.

She knew she couldn't keep this pace for much longer, she needed a better plan. She passed an awning that flapped in the breeze, its struts hanging loose. She grabbed at one as she ran past and it came off, surprising her. She swung it experimentally but it was too light to be an effective weapon. He wouldn't know that though, she scraped it against the wall, then bent to lay it in a shadowed past of the street, hearing the slowing of his footsteps. She wasn't armed, but he thought she was and he would have to slow at every corner, he'd be wondering if she was waiting to bash his head in. Which had been her plan.

She was tiring though, and needed a better plan. She needed to find a weapon or a hiding spot in the almost featureless maze of housing. She heard his footsteps draw closer again and panic filled her. A gust of breeze brought the scent of sea water to her and she oriented herself. There was one thing close by big enough to find. They had a security system too, which she could trigger. She forced more speed out of her body and was nearly round the corner when he emerged, spotted her and fired. Agony lanced across her shoulder and the scent of burning flesh reached her.

She turned the corner and the maze vanished behind her and she ran into the docking bay, an open area dotted with square boxes. All of them turned on at once could support the weight of a mid-sized space ship or work platform. Individually, they could manoeuvre and rotate parts or smaller vessels. She bolted for a distant row, ducked behind a squat square box and came to a halt, heart pounding. If she could damage the box, it would trigger an alarm but the smooth hard polymer wouldn't yield to her bare hands. She didn't bother trying. On hands and knees, she crawled forward, fifty metres, a hundred metres, maybe. The boxes were staggered, uneven, more and closer near the centre, less dense near the edge. She peered around her, looking for the best escape route. She could hear vehicles in front of her, not a heavily trafficked road, but movement, people. Her decision made, she began making her way cautiously towards the road. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke close behind her.

"Don't make me look for you k'diwa. If I have to look for you, you'll regret it. You know I can." His voice was close, so close. How was he tracking her? It came to her then, the memory of how she had found Spock and Kirk walking in San Francisco that long ago day and her heart sank. It didn't matter if she was silent he was going to find her anyway. He could track her wherever she went and she would never be free of him. He had to die. Frantic, she pulled into herself, trying to crush anything not her, anything not now. She pulled feet under her in a crouching run, placing her feet carefully to make no noise. The gaps between the boxes became wider again. She had to stop and check before she ran. His shadow fell in the gap in front of her. She froze, holding her breath, terrified. The shadow distorted, flickering as he walked away.

She waited until it was not visible then resumed her slow progress from row to row, checking before she moved from cover. She heard footsteps behind her and froze, holding her breath and listening. Had he circled around her? Could he still feel her, if not as precisely as he might wish? Was he toying with her, taking pleasure in the chase? The footsteps neared and a man in a maintenance uniform turned into the row behind the one Gillian was hiding in, strolling, unaware of the danger lurking nearby.

A snarl and Gillian heard the distinctive crack of disruptor fire. She bolted forward and was amazed when she was able to be amazed. She heard cursing and glanced back. He stood with his back to her staring down. Gillian couldn't see what he was looking at but scent that came to her on the breeze was a clue. A man interrupting the pursuit was a rival, to be disposed of.

Gillian shook with terror. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She thought of the man, so alive and vital seconds before now so much cooling meat on the ground. She froze with fear; immediately the rational part of her brain prodded her. Run now, while he's not looking. She did. Using the adrenaline rush provided by her body, she put her head down and ran, uncaring of the noise she made or of keeping cover. She didn't bother looking behind her, dimly she heard someone call her name, but she kept running. Disruptor fire crackled in the distance but she was too distant for it to be effective. She passed into an open space. A killing ground suggested part of her brain, but she ignored it. She had bigger problems, in front of her, previously obscured by a slope in the ground and her low posture was a wall.

It wasn't high, perhaps five foot, but if she could scale it at all, it would take too long. She swerved to the right, the road curved in that direction and dashed to the safety of the parking lot. Perhaps there'd be a gate. A figure appeared in front of her and she dropped her shoulder and powered into the tackle. It was like slamming into a wall. She scrabbled for grip as the pain flooded through her shoulder, digging her fingernails into his legs. Strong arms gripped her and she heard Spock's voice call her name at the same time that her brain registered the scent of him. "K'diwa, it is me."


	13. Chapter 13 THe Capture

She would say yes to him if he asked, he decided. She might say yes out of gratitude, if for no other reason, but also because she kept to herself so much. He had known her in the mind meld far more intimately than any other person ever had and she would not deny him the lesser knowing of intercourse. He had no reason to ask, of course; he was nowhere near the Time, he should have the full seven years until that came again; he could not give her children and they were not bond mates who might consummate their bond in whatever way they wished with no censure from anyone.

Of course, a stray thought prompted him, if he was her lover, Gillian would not seek another. She was from an earlier age, when sex was less casual for humans than now. If she was in a relationship with him, she would not take another. He deduced this was a justification of the position he wanted to take, but examined the thought using logic and could not find fault with it. He was a genuine suitor who intended marriage. She was human and he half, they were both single. If they anticipated the wedding, whose business was it but theirs?

Decision made, Spock turned toward Gillian. She lay on her side, curled away from him so he fitted his body around hers and touched his fingers to her psi points. Memory flickered in the forefront of her mind; a young Gillian playing on the beach with her sisters, her mother watching over them. He removed his hand and opened the marital bond a fraction letting his emotions flood run through it, waking her. He hesitated, this was the moment where her reaction could crush all his hopes, but before he could reconsider Gillian rolled over and snuggled against him. "Changed your mind, Spock?" He pressed his mouth on hers in response, hungry for the taste of her.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and pressed several slow gentle kisses on her closed mouth before entering her mouth with his tongue. He was hesitant; he was so much stronger than she was and he feared to hurt her, she was so tiny and fragile. He was proof it was possible, but his practical experience with such things was many years in the past. He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and did what he had wanted to do for so long; ran his fingers through the length of her hair. It was fine and baby soft, floating to rest when released.

He ached with the need to open their bond, to feel one with her again. Permission was vital though. He raised his hand, curling the last two fingers and separating the first three digits. He held his hand over her face and inquired "May I?" It was, of course, not at all necessary for him to touch her psi points to reopen an existing marital bond but she smiled at his question and nodded "Of course." He touched his hand to her face, a feather light touch, and relaxed his hold on the bond joining them. He heard her gasp then the sensation of completeness, of rightfulness flooded his senses, overpowering everything else. Something that had been missing was now present.

It settled into a background sensation, allowing his awareness of Gillian to surface. Desire flooded through him, reminding him he had accepted her offer. Prompted, the thought now took pre-eminence. He bent his head to kiss her again, enjoying the sweet taste of her. He used his fingers to trace the lines of her face, her throat, and her breasts. The soft fabric of their clothes frustrated him. He tugged them off pressing his naked flesh against hers as he exposed it, craving the touch of her skin. He kissed and fondled his way down her body, noting which caresses make her hold her breath and which made her draw deep gasping breaths.

By the time he reached her hips, she was frantic, her breathing heavy and fast, her hands clutching at the sheets. He pushed at her hip, rolling her over onto her back and placed his thumb against her pubic bone. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, almost a moan, but spread her knees to give him better access. Desire, excitement and embarrassment fought for dominance through the bond. He wondered why she was embarrassed, she had made no error he was aware of, but it was unimportant. He moved his hand against her, bending his head to continue his exploration. Soon, he had to brace his hand against her hip to stop the thrashing movements of her orgasm. He could feel it both in her body and through the bond and her excitement fed his. He waited until the aftershocks faded, then removed his fingers from inside of her and lay his head on her abdomen. His body burned for release but he forced control of himself.

Gillian's fingers relaxed their grip on his hair. "Wow" He thought she would say more, but she didn't so he slid upwards to place his head back on the pillow, resting his cheek against hers. A vague memory suggested he compliment her or say something but before he could organise his thoughts, he found their situations reversed. Gillian trailed her fingers lightly over his penis with her fingertips in erotic and stimulating exploration. He considered requesting a harder touch, but in the end left the words unsaid. Her motions became firmer, more sure and more rhythmic. Jealousy spasmed through him at his realization of her experience at this but he pushed it away. He could not claim innocence himself and besides, her mouth closed around him and the importance of coherent thought declined. It declined a lot. Afterwards they lay entwined for a while, words seeming superfluous.

Gillian stirred several times and her mental state became more alert. Spock opened his eyes and looked at her, a question in his eyes. Gillian looked hesitant, but spoke anyway. "Is it because you are stronger than me, or is that what you like?" Spock suppressed a smile. Direct and to the point, typical Gillian. "It is, as you speculate, a question of my greater strength. I have not had sexual intercourse since the fal-tor-pan. I thought it best to be conservative. I have no wish to hurt you. Was it not to your preference?" Gillian looked startled, "Of course I liked it. It was great; you didn't hesitate to…make sure I enjoyed it. It's just…not been my experience of what men want. I mean, I shouldn't compare, I guess. I was surprised." Her stammering explanation came to a close. She flushed pink and looked away. Spock crushed the jealousy that rose up. The favourable comparison to her other lovers didn't compensate for the fact there had been others. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... It was great and I ruined it." She had, a little, but Spock was not going to let the evening end on a bad note. It had seemed to go so hideously wrong earlier but the situation, so bleak and hopeless, had improved dramatically, and he intended to salvage it if he could.

He leant forward and kissed her, pushing his desire through the bond until she relaxed and pressed herself against him. He ran his hands over her back and buttocks, discovering the dimples at the base of her spine. By the time he released her mouth and captured a nipple instead, she had abandoned conversational attempts, resorting to panting again. He rolled to his back but when she bent her head again, he grabbed her thigh and tugged it forward so she was sitting astride him. Her skin blushed pink, and she crossed her arms, covering her breasts. He ignored that and thrust his fingers inside her, varying the strength of his touch according to the feedback he was getting from her body until she leant forward, rubbing herself against him, shyness forgotten. He removed his fingers and she rewarded him by taking a firm grip on his penis and inserting the tip inside her. It slid forward a few inches but friction stopped it. Spock stifled a groan of frustration. Gillian purred in response and she rocked back and forward, pushing him into her more with each thrust until he was all the way in, giving a soft moan. She then lay relaxed on top of him, enjoying the sensation, her lips curled in amusement, idly running her fingers through his chest hair. Frustration filled him; he was tempted to flip her over and have done with it, but fear of hurting her stopped him. After an agonising wait however, she sat up again, eyes glistening. Bracing herself against his chest, she began moving. Spock had been concerned about how tiny she was but with sufficient lubrication, she had no difficulty and soon established a hard steady pace. He turned the lights on, wanting to see her. Gillian gasped and hesitated but returned to her labours. Spock drew pleasure from watching her face, her heavy lidded look of desire, and the ecstasy in her expression as her orgasm overtook her. He relaxed and let his body take over, pleasure overwhelming him.

He expected she would want to sleep afterwards but she wanted a shower instead. Spock wasn't tired. It wasn't yet his normal bedtime and he had spent several hours meditating which was a good substitute. He stripped the bed when she left, remaking it with new sheets. Then, with a warning to himself not to be disappointed if she was not interested, he joined Gillian in the shower. She was feeling better, he could tell because she was full of questions again. He filled her in on the concept that 'Vulcans have short refractory periods and lots of stamina'. She let him practice his 'Having sex with humans without hurting them' skills. He did find it odd when after, she wanted to put on the shirt again when they slept. Odder still when she cited modesty; he stared at her and raised his eyebrow until she blushed and got into bed naked. He checked what time she wanted to wake and promised he wouldn't let her sleep in. He gathered her sleeping body close to him. He wasn't going to waste this time by sleeping, he could go without while she was here.


	14. Chapter 14 Challenging Problems

T'Pau looked out the window of Sarek's office in the Fortress observing the women conversing beneath the spreading branches of a green leafed Terran tree. Saavik was engaged in conversation with T'Para and T'Amanda about the relative merits of a paper T'Amanda was publishing. A Terran, a Romulan/Vulcan hybrid and the Vulcan wife of T'Pau's Vulcan/Terran grandson stood in a green verdant garden filled with alien plants. When T'Pau had come to live here after her marriage to Silek, Eldest Son of S'chn T'gai the garden had been the original Vulcan layout from before the Awakening. Food bearing plants arranged in an efficient layout were useful in the event of a siege. On Sarek's bonding to T'Amanda, he had ordered the garden at the rear of the Fortress torn out and landscaped five rill of land with Terran plants, many of them decorative, reflecting the heritage of his new bride. Force fields kept the alien flora from spreading into the Vulcan ecosystem and dangerous wild life from entering. T'Pau had thought him gone mad. Perhaps he had, she was still dealing with the ramifications of that decision.

"Mother?" asked Sarek, from his seat in front of the desk. Her robes swished as she turned to look at him. Even with the Disciplines, Vulcans tended to be obsessive and the clan of S'chn T'gai more than most. Descended as they were from the fierce warriors who had fought their way to the top of pre-Reform Vulcan society, they were stubborn and hard headed. She had argued with Sarek but failed to get him to agree to give up the Terran woman. She had thought that the marriage would mean his death. Vulcans had married Terrans before and some of the results had been… less than ideal. Terrans could be fanciful and untrue to their spouses, with fatal results if the spouse in question was a Vulcan. It was within her power to order the woman off the planet but when logic failed, she knew force would do no better. Vulcans sometimes died rather than replace a bond mate with another. She hadn't dared risk the life of her son.

"I have received communication from Spock on this subject," she replied, reseating herself on the carved wooden chair. A luxury from the Polar forests on wood poor Vulcan. The desk, Sarek's desk, was of stone, polished to a deep red shine. The wooden drawers decorated shelves around the room, interspersed with Terran books. Modern electronics filled the space they had once occupied.

"Already?" asked Sarek with a raised brow, the first sign of surprise he'd shown since she'd arrived at his house and asked for his opinion on Dr Taylor. So, he'd know, or at least suspected Spock's interest. Spock was not an enthusiastic correspondent but his mother had insisted he write her every week when he left for Starfleet. With the correct assumption that she passed on all his news, letters to anyone else were rare. She had not made the same demand the last time he left Vulcan and she had not heard from him since, except for a verbal message passed by Sarek.

"On the subject of Dr Taylor," she amended. "It arrived before you left Earth. Dr Taylor requested that he assist her in a mind meld with the Humpback Whales. He agreed to her request but the Reldai on Earth denied him permission on medical grounds. He asked permission to undergo further training rather than have another perform the meld." She'd suspected then, the complication that was now unfolding. His subsequent communications had confirmed it.

"Did you permit it?" he asked.

"I did," she said, although perhaps the decision had been wrong. "He has asked permission to assess her suitability as a spouse."

"It is logical for a match to be made where there is an existing friendship," said Sarek. Her own first marriage had been one such. A younger daughter in her own Clan she had found the match her parents had arranged for her most agreeable. Within the bounds of marriage, they had been free to love each other with a fierce affection. Sarek, too, preferred his marriage to T'Amanda to the glimpse he had had of his life with T'Rea. She pushed the thought away. It was not relevant to the discussion.

"He has a wife," T'Pau countered, taking the opposite position. Debate was a legitimate way of sorting through arguments.

"Their bond was weak and has been severed," said Sarek. "Spock has fulfilled all the requirements to leave the marriage."

T'Pau had assumed that Spock would agree to remarry T'Para. He still needed a wife and T'Para had been an excellent choice. "It is possible the marriage will be more successful this time with no pressure to reproduce and the death of T'Para's first husband over ten years in the past," she said. Spock had not been in contact with her since he left Vulcan and judging by Sarek's report, he would not be.

"Spock's marriage will have no effect on the Clan, it is of importance to him only," said Sarek. The explosion that had killed Silek and their son during the War with Romulus had injured her severely, but she had recovered. The same bloodlines which made her a suitable match for Silek made her the perfect wife for his younger brother Skon. She had followed the logical course and married him when her husband's mother T'Vura had made the suggestion. It had not been the same, but they had had three sons together.

"She would have my position after T'Amanda," argued T'Pau. "Unless you married again and gave me a full Vulcan heir." If he lived through the shock of severing such a long standing bond, he would still be young enough to father a child and that would solve the problem. Would he take the offer and exchange Spock's choice of wife for his compliance to her choice of wife for him? His eyes slid away, focusing on a tapestry on the wall behind her. She had brought up the forbidden topic and he did not want to think about it. He would do what he willed and it would be up to her to find a solution. She had spoiled him overmuch as a child and was now paying the price.

Her attention landed on her First Attendant T'Lind, standing motionless near the door. She was a direct descendant of the younger brother of Solkar, the next in line by blood descent. The disgrace in her family line and the lack of rank from her father would not make her a popular choice but the Council would accept whomever T'Pau sealed as heir while she was still alive, especially if she wed Sarek and had a child by him. If T'Pau died first, who could tell? T'Pau had plans, of course, but the future was hard to predict.

"Horek and Selek are your grandsons, too," Sarek reminded her. They had married out of the clan and it would require negotiation to get them or their children back. They did carry the blood of Surak, but so did others.

"The reasons T'Para was chosen for him still apply. We are his elder, he should respect our decision," she countered. Sarek remained silent. Pointedly silent.

T'Pring was her greatest failure. Both she and Sarek had wanted a betrothal to another Clan as a show of support to the Council. She had bargained hard for T'Pring, using several debts owed to her to secure the match. Her father was a noted scholar from a powerful, respected clan. When his wife died and he survived, his Matriarch had honoured him by finding him a young wife who would give him further children rather than let him find his own match among his contemporaries. His death when T'Pring had still been a child had left T'Pring's upbringing in the hands of her mother. T'Pring had come to her and requested release from the betrothal so she could have her choice of husband but T'Pau had refused her, seeing no logic to the request. She had recommended further logic training to the girl's mother. T'Pring had withdrawn the request the next year and behaved in every way as a perfect Vulcan until the day Spock returned to Vulcan, vulnerable, dependant on her for his life and she had arrived for the wedding accompanied by her challenger.

T'Pring's façade of adherence to logic had deceived her. The obligations of T'Pau's rank forced her to continue with the proceedings, despite her personal involvement. Stonn was not a warrior but he had lived on Vulcan under its gravity his whole life and his mind was clear, the blood fever not fully begun. It might be enough to make a fatal difference to Spock. T'Pring must have had doubts in the other direction. Concerned about Spock's more consistent combat training and that advantage of hormone induced rage, she had called for James Kirk to be her champion.

A move T'Pau had not foreseen. She had offered tried to let the Captain decline the fight citing the fact that Vulcan laws and customs were not binding on him. When he accepted, she did not argue, she had fulfilled her obligations. T'Pau bore no malice towards James Kirk, but she had allowed it, knowing the man would die at Spock's hands because his life had less value to her than Spock's did. Vulcans tried for total logic but few achieved it. Spock would live, Stonn would not have what he desired and T'Pring would live out the rest of his life as Spock's property. T'Pring might have planned to keep seeing Stonn if Spock abandoned her on Vulcan, but T'Pau had other plans for the girl. It had been pleasing that Dr McCoy had saved Captain Kirk's life with his quick thinking. A Vulcan in the same situation would, on regaining consciousness, begin fighting. It was the reason the ceremonial guards attended the koont-un-kal-if-fee and dealt a death blow in cases of cowardice. Fleeing the fight early would not break the fever.

After the kal-if-fee, Spock had given her to Stonn. As his possession, she would have been required to serve Spock in his Time, reducing the time constraint of finding a new match and improving T'Pau's bargaining position for a new wife. Spock could legitimize her children or not as he chose. She paid a price, of course. Vulcan society had shunned T'Pring ever since the fal-tor-pan became public. She had counted on Vulcan privacy to conceal her actions, not realising that the Federation had no qualms about revealing such things for entertainment purposes. The matches she had made for her children had been much lower than their bloodlines would otherwise have dictated and her career had stagnated but it was not enough. Never enough for what she had tried to do. T'Pau didn't have many flattering things to say about T'Rea but she had performed her duties as Sarek's bond mate even after she had the marriage annulled and entered Gol. Nor had she tried to kill him. T'Pau still required extra time in meditation every time she saw T'Pring in the Hall of the Council, walking around as thought she had not tried to have Spock killed so she could indulge her carnal passions.

"As Spock's widow, you considered T'Para a daughter of the Clan," Sarek argued, breaking T'Pau's reverie. "She could still serve as your heir. The wife of my heir is a traditional choice but not the only one." It would be an insult to Spock, a reversal of the position they had spent years cultivating.

Sarek remained silent, awaiting her judgement.

"I am not convinced of the woman's suitability. I do not have sufficient information to make a judgment. It may be necessary for me to meet her. Tell no one of our conversation." Sarek nodded.


	15. Chapter 15 The Morning After

After lunch at a cafe overlooking the Bay, Nyota and Gillian walked to one of the boutiques on the Esplanade. Gillian felt quite dowdy in her purple and white uniform next to the polished perfection of Commander Uhura. Bricks of colour separated by gold 'mortar' patterned the mid-thigh length dress Nyota wore, separating into a swirling pattern over the bodice, obscured by the orange lace scarf thrown around her neck. A matching gold turban hat, heeled boots and co-ordinated nail polish completed the ensemble.

"Harrison is my favourite designer." Nyota confided. "I don't know if I have enough money for designer clothing." protested Gillian. Nyota looked surprised "It's all designer. It's about the name, not money. The machine does all the work. You can buy handmade items but they are so expensive. Harrison does the design. He loves it when Christine and I wear his outfits to public events like last night's concert. She cast Gillian a dimpled smile, "Geoffrey and Scotty liked them too. For you, he'll probably give you at least one dress for free, since you haven't worn anyone's clothing yet."

A realistic display of mannequins at a garden party appeared in the window but once inside there was no sign of it. The room they entered looked like an exclusive salon with low pillowed seating, mirrors and hanging drapes. Nyota didn't pause, walking through the display to the hall beyond. Gillian followed, reaching her hand through one of the mannequins in the hall and touched nothing; it was another hologram.

At the end of the hall, the door opened onto a second room which looked more like a work room. A bit too tidy, to be an actual workroom unless its owner was obsessively tidy, in which case it was too messy. Dresses hung on hooks around the room, fabric tossed in loose piles over frames which seemed to have no purpose but to hold loose piles of fabric. A pair of mirrors hung with beads faced each other off to one side. A large desk with several drawers topped with a computer completed the whole 'you've interrupted a genius at work' look of the room.

Harrison Alvarez wasn't what Gillian expected from a fashion designer. Over six foot tall, sorry 1.8 m, she was going to have to get used to using metric measurements, and built like a line backer. He was also one of the most gorgeous men she had ever set eyes on. He had dark skin and wavy brown hair but brilliant wide blue eye, full lips and high cheekbones. She watched him kiss Nyota on the cheek and flirt with her and decided they had been lovers before but weren't now.

"You look gorgeous as always and where did you get this scarf?" he purred in her ear after the fourth kiss. "Gillian knit it for me," replied Nyota, waving her hand in Gillian's direction.

"Beloved, you brought me a present. The so-famous Dr Taylor, I owe you one for this, choose any dress on the premises." He swept Gillian into a swift hug before she could protest. As he stepped back, her scarf slithered from her neck. "You knit this one too?" Harrison asked. She nodded and he whisked both to a drawer in the desk with a perfunctory "May I?" He punched buttons whilst keeping up a stream of questions to Gillian and Nyota about recent events and their future plans. After a few minutes, the drawer reopened revealing the originals and variations in a variety of colours and lengths which he hung artistically around the room among the cluttered display of clothes.

Gillian had to stand on a metal plate while a scanner took her measurements. Harrison promised to keep them on file and send her recommendations whenever he updated his stock. "Plus I will design something for you," he promised. "Now I want you to take this questionnaire." Pictures of outfits formed up above the computer and she clicked which design element she liked best. Harrison frowned down at his own outfit, loosely bloused multi-coloured pants topped with a red top cut at intervals to show off his impressive biceps.

"Not a fan of colour, Gillian?" he asked.

"Yes, but one at a time," she admitted, avoiding looking directly at Nyota. Harrison adjusted the survey, which, to Gillian's surprise, brought up some dresses which didn't look so, well, odd. She even liked one, a long silky dress which shaded from indigo at the ankles, though to nearly white and back to indigo as it separated across her back.

Harrison made adjustments to the design, grumbling a little when Gillian wanted it looser for a more professional appearance. She selected from material swatches and the order went in the back and soon after, the dresses were ready. She ended up with no less than four dresses for less than she would have paid in 1986. As far as she could calculate anyway, but it was less than she'd budgeted. Gillian would have taken the fifth one also, but Harrison declared it a disaster and recycled it over her protests. "I refuse to let you out in public in that dress with my name attached to it. My reputation demands it. The colour doesn't suit you at all." It didn't, and Gillian had not been planning on wearing it. Had it been on the rack, she would have put it back but after it he had made it for her she had felt compelled to buy it and flinched as it disappeared. It was the little things about the 23rd century that surprised her. Aliens and FTL travel were easy in comparison.

"I don't know why you wanted everything so loose, you have a beautiful body," he commented, startling her after his businesslike demeanour earlier.

"Wear your clothing tight enough to show you are a woman, loose enough to show you are a lady," she quoted and he gave a deep beautiful laugh. "Edith Head," he acknowledged.

"I need to project a business-like and serious demeanour," she said. Old habits die hard. Accusations of sleeping her way into assignments had happened to her too often. "I have to do some interviews tomorrow. I was asked not to wear my uniform."

"It's a crime," he countered, arching an eyebrow at her. "What's the worst that could happen?" he asked.

"Um, men follow me round like dogs," she offered. A statement that said more about men than her level of attractiveness, she thought.

"That I can see," he offered laughing. Flirtation was new and flattering. Most of the men she'd met in social situations had asked her outright for sex.

"I might be one of them, he offered," hinting, then added in a rush, "Even though I'm a fashion designer."

She blinked "I hadn't thought otherwise," she assured him. "I have done a history course since I've been here that covered the major events." The Eugenics programs of the late twentieth and early twenty first century had been thorough with respect to homosexuality. Lack of societal pressure to marry and have children to those not so inclined had completed the task.

He breathed a gentle sigh of relief "Would you like to go dancing?"

"Of course, I'd love to" she said with a smile. "As long as you promise not to make me ugly clothes if it doesn't work out between us," Not that she'd notice. Three hundred years gave one an outsider's perspective on fashion. Of course, she couldn't cast stones, having lived through the Seventies. She'd been quite happy to have some of those photos disappear into the mists of time.

It took a few minutes to find a convenient time but they sorted out a date and Gillian and Nyota took their leave. Standing at the cable car station, Nyota said "We went out when I was at the Academy. He's very nice and an excellent dancer."

"Why did you break up?" she asked.

Nyota sighed. "I had this Orion roommate," she said as though this explained everything. Gillian waited for the explanation.

"The green skinned aliens. Their women exude pheromones that mess with human men. They can't resist them. I was young and not very understanding," Nyota said. "I'm sure it won't happen again." The arrival of the cable car forced a hurried round of goodbyes.

The name was an anachronism. A long line of connected carriages said train to her. She announced her destination to the nearest one and entered. The door shut and remained so, leaving her alone in a vehicle which seated twenty, although she knew once all carriages had occupants, if anyone announced the same destination, her carriage would open again. It didn't though, and she watched the back half of the train detach at the first intersection and slide off to join the end of another. She couldn't tell if any carriages joined her train, the ride was smooth, but she assumed so.

She took a deep breath and decided to check her notes again before her lecture. There was little to distract her out the window. The streets were clean, bland and lined with identical rows of high rises. Few people owned personal vehicles anymore or had a licence. The public transport system was excellent and those who were late or wanted more privacy took a taxi. The same design as the cable cars, they were programmed to operate as individual units and could drive other than on the standard cable routes for an extra fee. Walkers chose the more scenic paths through the city. She replayed her messages so she could listen to Spock's deep voice, "It would be agreeable to spend time with you Dr Taylor. I have made reservations at 1630 at La Traviata. I will meet you there," followed by the long string of digits which were addresses these days. The time stamp confirmed that it had arrived after Hikaru had picked her up. She smiled, feeling better.

The other message she'd found that morning, stamped at 1912 hours from Dr McCoy consisted of a random apology about not getting back to her sooner and "Well, gosh, you made plans anyway so I hope Jim shows you a good time. He'll certainly try anyway. Um, bye."

Nyota had been discreet, dropping the subject after a quick "How was your date?" combined with a knowing look. She no doubt thought Gillian had succumbed to the wiles of Captain Kirk and Gillian decided not to say anything to correct her assumption. Spock was a private person; he wouldn't want her to say anything. Plus, there might be a reporter hiding somewhere taking their picture. She cringed imagining the headline in the gossip column and decided Spock would never speak to her again.

Which would be tragic. She was still tingling from last night. God, she was pathetic. You'd think she hadn't had sex in years. Of course, you'd be right. And now she had to get used to sleeping alone again. It was coming back to her why she avoided one night stands. The sex wasn't worth the withdrawal symptoms as she closed down all the systems that were now awake. Well, it usually wasn't, last night had been amazing. She pressed her knees together and forced herself to concentrate.

Gillian had woken to Spock kissing the back of her neck. Mindful of a Vulcan's sensitive nose and still tired from the limited amount of sleep, she'd retreated to the bathroom to brush her teeth and shower. It was a long shower once Spock joined her with a transparent offer to scrub her back. Which he did, running his long slender fingers over her back until she all but melted into a puddle, then taking advantage of her state of reduced resistance.

He had put his natural reserve back on with his Starfleet uniform. Formal and polite, he had asked about her plans for the day while setting the table as thought the previous night had not happened. They ate in silence and the sense of him in her mind faded. Gillian had lingered over the last few mouthfuls of dried fruit and grains, trying to prolong the meal. Spock had closed the mind meld and Gillian groped for his hand across the table, relieved when he gripped back. They sat in silence, hands clasped for several seconds until the sensation of loss eased. Embarrassment then flooded Gillian and she released Spock's hand. Here he was, trying to say goodbye and she was holding on in an emotional fashion. Spock must be horrified and hoping she would leave. She rose, and with a cheerful "Well, I'd better not be late for my first lecture" left to return to her room.

Gillian tapped the pause button, halting her lecture to answer the door chime, wondering who it could be. Not many people knew where her room was, it was one of the main reasons she roomed at the Vulcan Embassy instead of the Terran Science Institute. The treadmill inset into the floor kept running and she frowned at it and ordered the computer to stop, watching the cover slide over it. She couldn't help smiling when the door slid open to reveal a uniformed Captain Spock holding a stack of food containers, radiating heat. "Spock, I didn't expect you," she stood back to let him enter. "Um, you can put the food over there," she waved at the bench near her food replicator. Her unpacked shopping bags, PADDs and stuff were scattered over most of it, so she shoved it all to one end to give him space. "Just let me have a shower and change clothes," she ran her hand over her sweaty shirt "And I'll be right back."

She tried to back into the bathroom and look calm, sexy and gracious at the same time, with limited success. Spock stalked towards her, step for step until she bumped into the wall beside the door. "Perhaps you need some assistance," he suggested, his voice grave. "I would be happy to …scrub your back for you," and make her shiver in anticipation.

He'd been diffident and unsure the previous night, full of mixed messages and strange moods. She'd stayed because she could tell how alone he was. She owed him so much for the mind meld, a few hours of her time was nothing in comparison. He was more aggressive tonight; in a good way. Instead of holding her as though she was made of spun glass, his hands held her wrists in a grip of iron. Not tight, she wouldn't bruise, but she was aware tonight she couldn't break free of him if he didn't want to let her go. After the shower they ate the cold food and retired to the bedroom.

"Gillian" His voice was so beautiful. She shivered and decided she could sacrifice another hour of sleep for whatever he wanted if he asked her in that tone of voice. His next words weren't what she was hoping to hear. "Have you had many lovers?" A cold sensation ran through her, disrupting the warmth of the night. She rolled over in the bed so she was facing him.

"Have you?" she asked in return. She was disappointed she hadn't left double standards behind her with her old life. Some of her male crewmates were doing their best to convince her there was no moral barrier to her having a little fun with them. Curiosity prompted her to ask the same question of him, though. That was fair.

"Five" he replied and so she told him. "One less than you," He seemed to consider that for a while. She ran her fingers over his chest, she was awake again, after all, and the subject of conversation was sex.

"Was Jim Kirk one of them?" he asked. Anger flared and she slammed her hand into his chest. He grabbed at her wrist, an iron grip she couldn't remove. She struggled, insulted and wanting to leave the bed. "Was he?" His voice was insistent…jealous.

"No," she protested. "And for the record, I find the question insulting. Why would you ask that?" He levered her onto her back using her arm and settled himself over her, touching but not letting his weight rest on her. He stared at her for a minute. His eyes were dark and unfathomable but she could feel primal satisfaction emanating from him. He lowered his head and forced his tongue into her mouth. It was harsh and thorough and excited her beyond belief.

"Jim seemed…happy this morning. He said your date went well." Gillian suppressed a laugh into a half smile. Hadn't wanted to admit the truth in front of his friends had he? She supposed it had been early enough for him to go out and score at a bar after she left.

"Not that well," she assured him. "Some people would say badly, in fact." She parted her knees and let him sink between them. He had infuriated her, implying that Spock was somehow defective since he died. Yes, he missed a lot of the nuances of human behaviour, but to be fair, humans did too.

She placed a few lingering kisses on his chest then asked "So, Laila Kalomi…" Spock remained silent but lifted an eyebrow. "What did you wish to know?" The silence mocked her, her question felt childish and immature but she was curious so she asked. "I sort of thought you liked her, but you never got together with her after you were single. Were you not that keen on her?"

"Indeed," he said. She thought he wouldn't continue but he did. "I was attracted to her when we first met, but I was not free then. To break the match my father had made for me would not be logical. When I realised my inappropriate feelings, I distanced myself from her. I may have sought her out after T'Pring divorced me if her actions had not revealed certain deficiencies in her character." He stared intently at her. "If I was in control of my own actions, I assure you I would not have betrayed my wife. She stole my choice from me." Gillian nodded. Things had changed, she thought. It hadn't occurred to her in the slightest that Spock, or any man, would have been upset about having sex with an attractive woman when she'd watched the holo.

"So, who was next, Nyota?" He nodded confirmation, without looking at her. With the bond open, she could feel his conflicted response and thought he might still love the beautiful communications officer, she could detect pain there. She didn't wish to hear about it if he did so she moved on. "Then the Romulan commander…" she let the sentence trail off, leaving a gap for Spock to fill.

"Yes. That did not go well." He was silent and she could feel tension in his body before he continued. "Nyota had moved on to another relationship. It influenced me to behave in an illogical manner."

"And Zarabeth, did you love her? Or was it just biology?" She had her suspicions on that one.

"Biology," he confirmed. "Many things affect pon farr. The seven year cycle is if circumstances are ideal. Sexual contact can bring it on earlier, as can time travel or certain other phenomena, such as the gestalt caused by a large group of pre-Reform Vulcans, rapid aging. We had little in common. Severing the bond was a painful but logical choice."

She stopped asking, his wife was number four and she did not want to hear about her. She expected he would ask her for more details but he didn't, burying his face in her neck instead.


	16. Chapter 16 Underground

Work crews were scattered around the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock and Scotty were involved in dissecting the science console. They had been shuttled to the ship, which had been going to replace the Yorktown before the last minute name change, so the Head of Starfleet Command could film their excited reaction, but it wasn't finished. If Admiral Nelson wasn't going to get to punish Kirk, he was going to use him for all the good publicity he could get. Uhura's assistant was walking to each wired comm point on the ship and manually checking them. All the system checks said they worked but they had already found two cross wired relays. Not a fatal problem, but if the comm system was damaged, they would be reliant on the older slower back up. A red light flashed and Commander Uhura checked the incoming signal. She turned toward Spock. "Captain Spock, you have a priority call from the 'Yves-Jacques Costeau', would you like to take it on the main screen?" She couldn't route it through the disassembled science station. She watched for his reaction but couldn't read anything.

"Indeed, Commander Uhura." Nyota routed the incoming call to the view screen and was unsurprised to see the face of Dr Taylor appear. Who else would it be? She snuck looks at Jim Kirk, who was lounging in his command chair to determine what he was thinking but he had his Captain mask on and she couldn't tell.

From the screen, Gillian's smile lit up the room. Her wet hair hung in limp curls around her face and the dark rubber of a wetsuit covered her shoulders. "Captain Spock. I wondered if you have any interest in archaeology." Spock was standing to attention at the Science Station, knowing the receiver focused there.

"I did several courses during my time at the academy, Dr Taylor." His lack of enthusiasm seemed to dim Gillian's mood, but she rallied and held up two plastic chits.

"I met an archaeologist at one of my lectures today. He offered me two tickets to a Lascaux Caves tour in exchange for some of my whale tour tickets. I swapped of course, since I receive many more tickets than I have friends. I thought you might like to come with me. If you don't, I will offer the other ticket to the rest of the crew." Nyota noticed Sulu lean forward at this, which didn't surprise her. Sulu was up for anything historical, although she thought it was premature. In the unlikely event Spock turned the tickets down; she thought Scotty would get the next invitation. He had shown Dr Taylor around the ship the previous week, like a proud parent showing off pictures of his new baby. "The tickets are for 8 am tomorrow, Paris time though. I'm sorry about the short notice; it was a cancellation and they are apparently hard to get for non-archaeologists so I thought you might still like to come."

"Indeed Dr Taylor, they are rare, I have not been able to obtain one at all during my time on Earth. It would be most agreeable to accompany you on the tour. I shall apply for Shore Leave..." He leant forward typing the request "-and I do not foresee any difficulties in receiving it." Kirk waved his acceptance to Spock, and then initialled the request as it came through. Dr Taylor waved a quick hello to the rest of the crew and went back to work; the call would have cost her a fortune. Part of Starfleet, the ship ran on San Francisco time, so Alpha shift had ended an hour ago. Not that little things like that bothered Spock and Scotty. The tour would start in six hours and Dr Taylor would finish her shift in an hour. Nyota laid a bet with herself about when Spock would leave.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Uhura had finished her last test and she followed Spock off the Bridge. "May I accompany you?" she asked.

"You may," he said and they fell in step on the way to his rooms. "How are your diagnostic tests progressing?" he asked.

"Ahead of schedule," she said, "I'll be able to make my date tonight." It was a deliberate dig, something she never did, not in front of him. Not that he ever commented. He was scrupulous about maintaining the most professional demeanour since that day at the end of the first Five Year Mission when he had reiterated his offer of marriage and taken himself off to Gol when she refused. Until the aftermath of the fal-tor-pan, where he had let her fling his arms around his neck, responding with incomprehension, not stoicism. Now that was gone too, he was again the polite stranger she had tried to befriend so many years ago. They reached his door and she followed him in.

"Commander Uhura? Do you have a question for me?" he asked, eyebrow arched from the middle of the room.

"Are you and Dr Taylor dating?" she asked, watching the face she had once known so well for any sign.

"What business is it of yours?" he asked, and she felt a pang in a buried part of her heart.

"I'm asking as a friend. I thought you might like some advice." He was silent so long she was preparing to leave and call the night a failure.

"What sort of advice?" he asked.

"I'll need some preliminary information first," she said. "Have you been on many dates?" Too much of a professional to open private transmissions, she had peeked at the transmission log and noted the number of times he had sent and received communications to Dr Taylor.

"Six," was Spock's hesitant reply.

"Good, where did you go?" she asked. He turned to keep facing her as she seated herself on the couch where he'd given her lyrette lessons.

"Go?" he arched a delicate eyebrow.

"On your dates. You did go somewhere, didn't you?" If he said no, she was taking back every evil thought she'd had about Gillian during yesterday's conversation when she'd told Nyota about her evening of Andorian flute music with Harrison. Scotty's correlation between the days Spock left the ship and Gillian's days off had been convincing.

Spock shifted his weight from one foot to another. "I visit her in her room, or she comes to mine." Every single thought. Gone.

"And she agrees to this?" she asked, probing. Spock looked blank. Well, blanker than usual. "You agree ahead of time to an evening of …discussion. She was curious as to whether the dates had been intimate but knew he wouldn't answer that question.

"No," said Spock. "I examine her timetable and when it coincides with my leave, I go to visit her."

"And during these dates, do you show her gestures of affection? Say nice things to her? Take her presents?" Watching Spock's look of incomprehension, Nyota wondered whether a note of condolence would be an appropriate thing to send. In the end, he gave a hesitant shake of his head.

"We talk about what we have been doing since the last time we saw each other. What we did before we met" He paused. "Are these things important?" He stared for a minute, "They were to you. We argued about things: movies, flowers, Henoch." She waited while he sorted his memories. His breathing was faster and his eyes unfocused. She had gone to his room after the possession by Henoch. It had been too tempting, Spock enjoying life and quoting love poetry to her. She hadn't realised until after that he thought she wanted to get back together.

"Gillian does not…she is not like you." Nyota doubted that, at least not to the extent that Spock seemed to think. Gillian was the object of his affection, but was Spock the object of hers?

"Has she shown you gestures of affection?" He hesitated. "She seems happy to see me." This might be an indication in someone who wasn't constantly happy, now that her whales were safe.

"She always seems happy to see me, too. And Scotty, and Sulu and probably McCoy and Chekov for all I know," she pointed out, her voice kind. She left off Jim for obvious reasons.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Are there any indications that she thinks of you as more than a friend?" If this was a one sided crush, she would try to talk him out of it.

"We are more than friends," he said at last. Nyota struggled for something to say that would help. She knew about the mind meld, it had been in Spock's leave request. She hoped it wasn't just gratitude on Gillian's part. She would have to inquire the next time they saw each other. And she was definitely having a word with Harrison. And Jim.

Nyota took a deep breath, "Okay, you pack, I'll talk. We'll start in order of importance. First, telling someone morning is a logical time to have sex because you already have an erection? Not sexy, don't do it. Second …"


	17. Chapter 17 Music Is The Food Of Love

Gillian bent her knees as the waves swelled and the ship rolled beneath her. Squally weather had plagued the boat for the last three days. The skies were overcast and cool as the Northern Hemisphere headed into winter. Without the rain, it would have been warmer here near the equator where the whales were exploring. Ignoring the instruction manual open on the PADD hanging from the ledge in front of her, she pressed the screen in front of her and watched the scan results scroll across the centre screen. She smiled at the computer analysis of the Nitrogen levels. The adjustments they had made to the ocean pumps to mimic the action of the whales had restored the levels to what she remembered. The fish stocks were starting to respond to the change, a small but statistically significant change had begun. She summarised the results and sent the report to the Terran Science Institute (Oceanic Division) who would pass it onto the fisheries department. After a lag and several hundred hours of discussion, they would announce an increase in the quota for the year.

"Gillian, visitor," said Gillian's assistant Therese Liang from the doorway. Therese was tall and lanky with waist length curly brown hair that Gillian envied. A Business Management graduate, she was invaluable to Gillian, handling the day to day running of the ship, while Gillian raced to update her scientific knowledge. By visitor, she meant tourist. Other boats in the fleet ran the whale watching tours, but guides ran behind the scenes tours of the research ship and they liked to include at least one chat with the scientists. Gillian tried to palm these off to her Grad students but she tended to get stuck with any visiting diplomats. She'd done tours every Wednesday for the schools back at the Cetacean institute but that was back when a female doctor was unusual.

"One minute," said Gillian, without looking back. She kept her voice cheerful in case the person was there already. She hit send and turned to see Spock standing at the doorway, calm and at ease. There was no sign that the day must feel cold and dark to him. "Captain Spock. You have excellent timing. I was just about to have lunch. Come in, I'll turn the heat up." She kept the room open, preferring the unpredictable weather to the sameness of the air conditioning. He crossed the room to stand near the air vent, which was pouring warm air into the lab in response to the change she'd made to the thermostat. A smile threatened but she pressed her lips together, he was so serious she felt like she couldn't laugh at him.

She had folded her desk away, allowing her to stand in the middle of a ring of monitors. "Are you hungry," she asked, but was unsurprised when he shook his head. Vulcan's more efficient metabolisms meant they required two small meals a day. It was Spock's custom to meditate away the stresses of dealing with humans all morning in his lunch break. She'd eaten on the run earlier while working so she logged her new status on the computer and considered herself off duty for the next hour.

"It is agreeable to see you," she said, smiling. Last time he had visited, she had told him he was welcome to visit anytime and for shorter periods and had felt his pleasure at her request. It was frustrating to be in San Francisco knowing he was in orbit above. It was sickening how much she missed him when he was not here. How had it happened? She'd always been a loner. She enjoyed the company of others but she didn't need it the way others seemed to.

They stood in silence until Gillian spoke, excited about her news. "I can still feel them in my mind," she said. Not the overpowering experience of the meld, but a distant awareness of their presence and their emotions. "I get in the water and talk to them every day and it hasn't faded."

Spock inclined his head. "It was always a possibility that a permanent bond would form with repeated exposure. Have you been practicing?" Spock had showed her meditations she could use to block them out. She preferred not to most of the time but the stern lecture she'd received from Spock after the meld was enough to ensure that she practiced every day.

"Of course," she said, nodding. "Do you have any luggage?" she asked. Not that he would need luggage, but she couldn't see him letting her tear his clothes off here.

"I have already dropped it off," he said. "I have come for a tour of the ship." The ships specifications were already available for public viewing, including virtual tours. Why would he want to see it? She thought he had come to see her.

"Um, okay. I'm sure you're already familiar with the scanners. They are standard but outfitted for optimal performance in salt water." Better than anything she'd ever dreamed of, they obtained more information in days than 20th Century science could in years. "All three whales are healthy so we also do normal oceanic monitoring as we cruise. Underwater sensors check and record seven hundred and fourteen factors, such as ocean temperature, salinity, krill concentrations and upload the results, cross-checking with weather satellites, sensor buoys, ocean pumps and historical records."

Her sense of bewilderment faded as she became involved in the explanation of her work. She led him on a tour of the ship, pointing out all of the features and explaining their research. Nuclear wars, genetic tampering and alien invasions had damaged large sections of the oceans. Rehabilitation was still ongoing. It was all so high tech, a long way from the way she'd learnt to do things. It had once taken two hours for her and three others to haul a sea turtle out of the water and then she had the finger endangering task of removing the plastic bag from its gullet. His interest was flattering and he didn't leave when the hour was up, following her around the ship, watching as she worked, silent and unobtrusive.

"The talking, it's horrendous. I mean, there's going to be one calf in the next two years, there can't be that much genetic diversity no matter which embryo they pick." Gillian attended all the discussions despite the overpowering urge to put her eardrums out so the pain would stop. She understood how politics worked and she had enough trouble with people thinking she hadn't earned her position. She had explained surrogacy to Gracie during the meld in case she didn't have another chance and Gracie had agreed.

Her two grad students, Gerhardt and Alison traipsed half way up the stairs. "Dr Taylor, the shuttle is leaving in five minutes," Gerhardt pointed out. Gillian blinked "I'm so sorry, I hadn't realised it was so late. You can go of course." They raced past to their rooms and she turned to Spock. "You'll have to run to catch it." He could afford to transport out, of course, but she was hoping he wouldn't.

"I am not ready to leave," he said, sending a shiver of anticipation running up her spine.

"Should we do something?" The wind carried Gerhardt's voice to Gillian despite the distance. He jerked his head in their direction as Alison emerged from the hallway, her straight black hair falling free of the tie. She had changed out of her uniform into a short red dress which Gerhardt appreciated as he followed her up the next flight of stairs toward the top deck and the shuttle pad. Like most people these days, she had partial Chinese ancestry. Even Jim Kirk, despite his looks was an eighth, with some Sioux blood from his mother's side as well.

"No," said Alison. "I had Spock for a lecturer. He deserves to be bored." Gerhardt laughed. Marine biologists, they would be the first of a new crop of Cetacean biologists, the winners of an arduous process of testing.

Gillian let the door to her cabin slide shut behind her before laughing. "I guess I have to entertain you, now that I've made you miss your flight," she said. Her room was smaller than equivalent accommodations on the Enterprise, luxurious compared to Twentieth Century boating. The couch against the wall which served as her bed together with the flat desk at its foot, took up a third of the cabin space. The middle third was a hallway with a door at each end, the one they entered by and the other, which led to the tiny bathroom. Cupboards set flush in the wall made up the last third. A large flat box rested against the cupboard. It was new since this morning.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him all over but she restrained herself. It took time for him to switch from the distant formal Captain, to her intense and passionate lover. They didn't seem to coexist at the same time. At the end of his visit, he reversed the transformation, as though embarrassed at his behaviour. It had been strange at first, she felt like she was begging for his attention but the more he told her of his youth, the more sympathetic she became. If there wasn't a rule for it, he wasn't sure what to do.

"I have brought you a present," he said, indicating the box. "Thank you," she said her attention on him.

"It is a human custom to celebrate the turning of the years. As of 1817 hours today, you are thirty two although the 332nd anniversary of your birth is not until the 24th of December. Therefore, I have brought you a present." She was…touched and couldn't keep a smile from creeping across her face. She had not thought anyone would remember or care about the actual date. Much less calculate the new one. Falling where it did, her birthday had never been the cause of much fuss. He was hovering; hands clasped behind his back near the box, watching for her reaction, so she slipped passed him and knelt on the floor.

She pulled back the catches and the hard polymer cracked, splitting open. She reached forward and touched the smooth wooden neck of a guitar. It was beautiful. She drew it out of the custom shaped padding. She wasn't an expert but it was much finer than the cheap instrument she'd owned before.

"It's just gorgeous," she said, letting her delight bleed into her voice. "Just the perfect gift." She cradled it in her arms and ran her fingers over the strings. The notes thrummed, but not the way she expected, the strings were the wrong way around. He'd brought her a left handed guitar. She vowed to learn to play it this way and never tell him. Determined, she spread her hand and plucked out the opening bars of "Stairway to Heaven".

"You appear to have a dominant left hand despite your demonstrated ambidextrousness," said Spock.

"I'm not ambidextrous," she replied. "I just write with my right hand. That's why my handwriting is so atrocious."

"That is illogical. Why would you do that?" Spock said, amusing her. His knowledge was so encyclopaedic it was strange when he didn't know what she meant.

"I didn't have a choice," she told him. "The teachers used to cane my hand if they saw me writing with my left hand. I've still got scars." She stood, lowering the guitar back into the case, and held her hand up, showing the tiny silvered scars on her fingers. He blinked and stared her, as if not quite believing his own ears. He took her hand and examined it, turning it over.

"Corporal punishment was inflicted on you for something beyond your control," he said at last, his tone quite flat and emotionless.

"Yes. My marks at school weren't great until I learned to type. So Vulcans don't use corporal punishment?" Unsurprising, considering the non-violence aspects of their culture. They seemed fond of verbal humiliation and bullying though, from what he'd told her. She'd bet good money lectures on logic were involved, too.

"No," said Spock. "Parents explain the illogical aspects of the child's behaviour until the behaviour is corrected." And she'd have won big time. "In this case, the teacher would be the one whose behaviour required correction." She decided not to ever describe the beatings the nuns had inflicted on her father.

She slipped her hand into his, curling her fingers around his. To her disappointment, he didn't return the gesture, slipping his hand from hers and placing both behind his back. "You are most physically appealing to me," he said. But? She wanted to scream. But what? She waited for the rest, a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Your eyes in particular are an attractive shade of blue." What? She looked at his face instead of the wall over his shoulder, but he didn't betray anything. Was that a compliment? For what purpose? To get her into bed? Or, prompted a thought, because that was the appropriate thing to do in this situation. Compliment your lover before propositioning her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you. I find you very attractive also." She reached forward, giving his forearm a gentle tug to release his arm and regaining possession of his hand. "I love your hands. They are beautiful and give me such pleasure." She spread his fingers and drew his hand to her face, feeling the familiar touch of him.


	18. Chapter 18 It's A Short List

Jim Kirk strode across the sand dune on the Giza Plateau. He could have beamed in closer but Gillian's crack about needing to lose some weight before he propositioned women young enough to be his daughter had hit too close to home. Sweat poured down his face but he increased the pace as he spotted Spock sitting in a meditative pose in a flat open area of sand, eyes closed. He considered Nyota's theory as he walked, scanning for Gillian's presence. He drew close to Spock and took a sip from his water bottle, letting his breathing settle. The wind was constant but hot and gave poor relief from the heat. "How are you, Spock?"

"I am fine, Jim. What brings you here?" Spock's eyes opened and he gazed back at Jim, relaxed and at peace in the scorching heat.

"I came to see you. You can imagine my surprise when Nyota told me you had left the ship on Shore Leave. Twice in two weeks. It's most unlike you." Jim was fishing. Would Spock admit he had come with Dr Taylor? To Jim's surprise, he did.

"I accompanied Dr Taylor here to visit the pyramids. It is one of the few things which are unchanged from her time period. She left in time to be back for an exam." Spock's face remained calm. "I decided to stay and meditate for the remainder of the day. Dr Taylor has a point, most of Earth is damp and cold but there are some parts of it which are habitable by Vulcans."

Jim was sure Nyota was wrong; he had used his Captains security clearance to spy on a few of their messages. Boring and about whales and cave paintings and other science topics. Unsurprising, it was Spock. Spock was his second best friend after Leonard but Jim wasn't blind to his faults. Some of the traits that made him an excellent first officer made him dreadful to go out pub crawling with.

He dropped into the sand beside Spock, relaxing a little. In those first months on Vulcan, Spock had been like a stranger. A being that looked like Spock but did not behave like him at all, making Jim wonder if he should have left him on the Genesis planet after all. He had put a lot of that down to the Priestesses' retraining and hoped being with the crew again would make him more like his old self. He had been disappointed at first. Spock had been like a cyborg, worse than when they had first met, but bit by bit, day by day, he was coming back. Although that implied a steady transition and it was a jerkier journey with days of no progress, then sudden flashes of Spock, who then retreated. His hopes had risen the day they got back from 1986, but since then he'd been closed off and formal again. Then again, the day of the trial, Spock had tried to join them in their punishment, but then snubbed him for the rest of the day.

He took another swig of water and offered the bottle to Spock, who shook his head. "So, you two are friends now?" he added. He had stranded her here in a time where she knew no one, albeit at her own request. He had only seen her one time since she turned him down after the trial. As usual, Spock had compensated for his inadequacies. Spock seemed to consider his question, before answering. "I believe our relationship fulfils all the criteria for that description." Kirk let out a strangled laugh.

"Does ours?" He could have kicked himself for asking, Spock had told his father they were and no doubt thought he was an idiot for asking again.

Spock answered without thinking, though, "Of course, you are my friend. And I am honoured by your friendship." Perhaps spending time with Gillian was good for him, Jim thought. She seemed to like his long winded explanations, perhaps as a non-native, she needed them. And both were individuals stranded among different people from the ones with whom they grew up.

"Would you like to do the tour also, Jim? There is still some time on the pass." Jim was surprised when Spock offered. He said yes and they walked down and joined the parade of tourists, since Spock had made a friendly overture and it was out of the sun. He had no real interest in the pyramids; he saw older, less studied artefacts all the time. He'd have liked the Lascaux Caves tour though, if Gillian had offered it to him first.

Jim thought Spock would be bored by the time they reached the air conditioned gift shop but he spent several minutes studying the replicas available. "Redecorating?" asked Jim, then felt guilty, he was the one who had blown up several of Spock's personal items on the Enterprise. Egyptian art would go well with the Vulcan decorations in his apartment.

"I would like to buy Dr Taylor a memento of the trip since she had to leave before this section of the tour," Spock answered. 'However, I do not know what would be appropriate." Jim was intrigued. This was a good sign, buying presents was a human thing. Not one Spock had ever excelled at; he was hit or miss at Christmas on the Enterprise. He hadn't noticed Nyota's birthday which had passed on Vulcan, not mentioning the sudden appearance of presents from the rest of the crew. Now he was buying, well thinking of buying a hostess gift.

He joined Spock at the counter. "Not jewellery, that's too personal. There's a romantic connotation to buying women jewellery. What sort of décor does she like?"

"I do not know. Her cabin on the ship was undecorated when I visited. Before, at the Embassy, she had only practical things." Jim had known Spock had visited the Yves-Jacques Costeau, but hadn't realised this would involve a cabin visit. This must not be an intimate gesture though, who didn't have any decorations after living somewhere for over a month? Okay Vulcans mightn't. Jim's glance landed on a bust of Nefertiti. "This is nice" Spock gave the facial expression that was the equivalent of a frown for him. "That seems decorative, not practical." They repeated this several times, one suggesting a gift, the other vetoing it, until they settled on two smaller items, a small figurine of a horse, which was Jim's idea and a hook for pulling the brains out of a corpse in preparation for mummification, which was Spock's. How that would prove useful to Gillian was a mystery to Kirk, but he kept silent.

Jim placed the items on the counter and added the bust he'd suggested earlier. He liked it and he'd thought of a spot for it in his apartment. A metallic jangle drew his attention to the ornate gold neckpiece Spock added to his pile. In the shape of a bird with extended wings, it must be the largest piece of jewellery in the shop. Made of gold, too, by the way the salesgirl lifted it. It was unlike Spock not to listen to his opinion like that.

Oh.

Ouch.

Curious, he read over Spock's shoulder as he wrote the note. "Dearest Gillian, I saw this and thought of you, Spock." Hah, Feminine intuition. Nyota was due a spanking when he next caught up with her. He would look forward to it. He waited until the salesgirl packed Spock's parcel and left to attend to another customer.

"I didn't realise things were that way," he offered by way of apology.

"They were not that way," Spock said. "But now they are." He looked a bit smug, but perhaps that was Jim's imagination. It stung both ways. That Spock had gotten Gillian to agree to a date and that Gillian had cracked through the shell of Vulcan reserve that surrounded Spock.

"I would have stepped back, if you'd asked," he said.

"It was not necessary. She chose me over you." Smug was an emotion, so that was progress, right?

He was silent as they walked back into the searing heat of the Egyptian morning. He was turning the new information over in his head. This explained several of Spock's sudden mood reversals. How serious was this thing between the two of them? It didn't make a difference to him. Gillian was now on Jim's list of women to never sleep with, even if she broke it off with Spock this instant. He was worried about how it would affect Spock.

On past performance, the relationship wouldn't stick and Spock would be devastated but refuse to admit it. At least there wouldn't be any awkwardness since she didn't work on the 'Enterprise'. He brushed aside the idea of giving advice. Spock was doing better than him so far, but he would need their friendship to fall back on after the break up.

In Jim's opinion, Spock had settled when he'd married T'Para but Spock had seemed relieved, even happy to bid goodbye to a difficult and emotionally wrenching part of his life. Jim wasn't an idiot. He'd seen Spock's longing looks when Irina and the two children met Pavel in the shuttle bay with hugs and squeals of excitement. He hadn't been surprised at Spock's halting explanation of his forthcoming marriage. And his congratulations on the subsequent announcement of Spock's impending fatherhood had been genuine.

He sipped at the water bottle again, "Want to come camping with me and Bones? Just the three of us? It will be our last lot of shore leave before our first mission." The less said about the disastrous shakedown cruise the better. Scotty had promised to have the ship together in two weeks.

"I had planned to spend my shore leave with Dr Taylor," Spock replied and a chill went through Jim. What? Spock had better be having sex with her, or else he was going to be insulted.

"All of it?" he asked. "Isn't she week on, week off?" Star ships couldn't afford to give the crew that much leave but Earth based positions often did. "I'll get a permit to go somewhere good. Yellowstone, for a week, you can come for some of it. Bring Gillian if you like," he said, searching Spock's face for a hint to what he was feeling. He had gone a long time without having to do that and he was out of practice.

Shimmering sand stretched forth before them. Sweat beaded Jim's face at the first step out of the shadow of the great pyramid. Spock took several steps into the light, towards his previous meditation spot.

"I might go back and start arranging that trip now," Jim said. "You can catch up on your meditation." Spock nodded and turned to walk away. Jim had his communicator in hand when he turned and said, "Yellowstone would be agreeable."


	19. Chapter 19 Insert Final Frontier Here

**Because it's a crap movie, and I can't bear going through it scene by scene but it did bring up some interesting concepts. **

Pain exploded through him, agonising but brief. Followed by nothing, which was a pain of a different type. In his entire life, he'd never been alone. At the lowest point in his life, in the aftermath of his exile from Vulcan, he'd still had T'Sil.

They had taken his followers from him, locked them apart from him for retraining. For a full year they had kept him prisoner in the recesses of the Temple, arguing and lecturing him on logic. Even Sarek and T'Pau had come to urge him to regain the Disciplines. Nothing they said made any difference, he had held firm, secure in the rightness of his views. He had walked into the ancient Hall of Judgment, proud and secure, prepared to spit defiance in face of the Council. Nine priests had greeted him, the stone walls lined with silent guards.

Ignoring his attempts to talk, the High Master of Gol had read out the charges and the punishment in a ringing monotone. Guilty of eleven counts of violating the personal integrity of a sentient being's mind. The sentence was exile from Vulcan and the Vulcan race. The guards gripped his shoulders and he felt the iron hard force of T'Sai's mind in his as she severed his mind from everything. He hadn't been conscious of the sensation of connection to the undercurrent of billions of other Vulcans before it was but its absence was horrifying. As if the sun had fallen from the sky, leaving eternal darkness in its wake. He was sure he had screamed as she moved through his mind, destroying and removing his sense of his place in the world. He had fought her, grasped at her, tried to cling to her mind but it was all in vain. She didn't fight, didn't react to anything he did. Piece by piece, everything he had and everything he was, slipped from his mental grasp.

Except for T'Sil, he held on to her with the desperation of a drowning Vulcan gasping for air in a cold unfamiliar landscape. The Priests had tried, but without full cooperation from both parties, they had damaged but not removed their bond. Two burly guards had half carried him from the Temple, taken him off planet, paid for a month at a hotel and left him there. For three days he had stayed curled in a foetal position, gripping with all his strength to the one thing that bound him to his former life. He hadn't moved until the bond was back to its former strength.

His followers had accepted retraining and been allowed to leave and return to the lives dictated for them by their parents. He had released them from tradition, freed them from their bondage. He had expected them to follow, attempt to re-join with him, but none had. They were not worthy. They had abandoned him to the loneliness and despair of exile.

This was worse.

The shock receded enough for him to wonder where he was. Unable to make the preparations for his katra, he had expected cessation of existence when the 'Enterprise' exploded. Preventing the false God from breaching the barrier of its prison had been worth the price. Logic and emotion were as one on this. He hadn't even had to persuade the Engineer Mr Scott. He had run into Engineering, looking for something to destroy the creature which called itself The One, to find the torpedo open and Mr Scott working on it, his quick efficient hands making the necessary adjustment. Had the linkages to his followers preserved his katra after all? Over the years he had built the Galactic Army of Light from members of lesser races. None were Vulcan, but there were many more of them. Fifty three had died in the explosion but a further one hundred and twelve awaited his return on different planets. If so, where was T'Sil? Nothing short of death would break their bond.

Sybok looked at his surroundings. For a definition of look which precluded sight, of course. A cacophony of information assaulted whatever senses he was using. He squashed his awareness into himself, trying to block out the information overload. More cautious this time, he tried focusing his attention on a small area near him. It was another entity, huge and powerful. As he focused his attention on it, it formed the same image of the Vulcan god of war, Khosarr as The One had. Terror flowed through him. The explosion had not destroyed it. It was here with him, wherever here was. Logic asserted itself. He was dead and the entity was dead too. No one, it seemed, had gotten the afterlife right. Could it hurt him? It hadn't tried. He ignored the thought telling him he was too insignificant to concern the being. He was born to greatness. He hadn't achieved it in life, but it wasn't too late.

Khosarr morphed into the form of Akraana and answered his unspoken question with knowledge. They were the last remnants of the beings that had died imprisoning The One. They were in the Nexus, the repository of all the abandoned time steams and the resultant energy releases. Outside linear time as he had known it. Watching, waiting for their opportunity to destroy their great enemy before he destroyed this universe as he had others. They had snatched Sybok's katra as it separated from his body during the explosion and brought him here to join them in their quest. What was the plan he wondered but there was no reply. It urged him, join us. Sybok shied away.

Beneath him ran the twisting streams of time, strand of events, time and places, winding paths with shut off ends. Some were clear; he could see the events from a great distance, others blurry and distorted. Some had blunt ends; others wound back on themselves or formed intricate shapes with others. Shadowy copies twisted off in all directions, visible at the points they touched the main shape. It was the time stream of the universe into which he had been born. No longer a simple linear progression, time travel had distorted it into this tangled puzzle.

Was it set then, he wondered and knew immediately it was not. Some parts of it were changeable, changing, or had changed. He could not change the path of his own life, of course, that would be a paradox. He merged with the joint consciousness for an instant and wrenched himself free. It was…unpleasant being the lower ranked person in a gestalt, your inner self overwhelmed and suffocating. As unpleasant as being the head of the Galactic Army of Light had been pleasurable. The Vulcan High Council had been right they charged him with Mind Rape. Pleasure and agreement flowed through him at his realisation and he shivered. He was losing himself already and he'd just arrived.

He would have to act while he still cared. _The caring won't fade_ said another presence and he concentrated on another consciousness which separated from the personality gestalt. _And you can always refresh yourself if you're worried. _

How? he wondered and his answer _came haven't you ever wondered about the path not taken? _And the figure sank, formless into one of the dead end timelines.

Spock first, thought Sybok, pressing ahead. Spock's death at the age of seven, killed by a le-matya on his kahs wan had triggered the Lady Amanda's flight to Earth in her grief. Perhaps she would have returned when her grief ebbed but her death in the shuttle crash on the trip from Luna to Earth had negated that possibility. The time line twisted beneath him as he concentrated, and he was over a spot where a small loop of the time line twined round its mirror image in the shadowed universe. Responding to his attention, the image focused, becoming clearer and he watched three of Spock's classmates bully him into setting off into the Forge for his kahs wan early.

How do I change it? And knowledge poured into him. The consciousness beside, within him became stronger, more there and the time line swirled forward showing an adult Spock with two human companions from one of the shadowed time lines stepping towards him, rushing past, to a distant time in Orion history. He concentrated and they hurtled back, diverted from their original time line to Sybok's time line. He watched the other Spock's confusion when no one had any memory of him. After some discussion, they reached the erroneous conclusion the support team's observation of history had damaged the time line. Perhaps they would stop tampering now. Illogical beings, they had no idea what they were doing but rushed in anyway. The other Spock beamed down to Vulcan from the ship equipped in a desert soft suit and posing as his own cousin Selek, saved the life of Sybok's brother. Another slight adjustment of the time stream returned him to his own time line when he was finished. The two time streams looped and touched each other, avoiding paradox whist keeping the impression of a stable time loop.

Both memories swirled in his head, life without ever meeting his younger half-brother and the new life where they lived in Sarek's house together for several years. He reeled and felt his identity shred. What was he here but memories? If they faded or became confused, what would happen to him, what was happening already? He turned for advice towards the entity that had separated from the Guardian. He had to call it something and it had used the Guardian of Forever as its mouthpiece. Who are you? But there was no reply. He needed answers so drew his katra close, separating from everything else and concentrated on the Guardian. Using the power sapped at his personality but he needed information. He was going to improve the world if it destroyed him. His failure in life drove his determination harder now. His intentions had been good, if flawed in the execution. Where is he? And knew he had passed the part of the time line that the entity lived in.

He moved along the time line, watching it and keeping his katra pulled close around him. He followed his father's life with interest. Sarek might lie to himself and claim lack of emotion but the truth was obvious to Sybok. With a wife and child, he struggled harder to achieve peace in the galaxy with more success. Lady Amanda's help with the negotiations brought better success with the more emotional races and the reach of the Federation spread further than it had in the untouched timeline.

Sarek came down hard on Spock after Sybok's exile, punishing him for the slightest lapse in logic and disappointment tinged Sybok as Spock kept to the old Vulcan ways. Sybok's hopes rose when Spock joined Starfleet at the age of eighteen. Spock's achievement of Kolinahr dashed them.

Sarek was a great man and his continued existence would benefit the whole galaxy; his death when an alien probe devastated Earth causing millions of deaths and collapsing Starfleet headquarters was a waste. How could he reverse it? What could he do from here? Very little, was the answer, mass manipulation was difficult and energy consuming. He searched for the other figure but still nothing. He concentrated on the time line, bringing it closer, watching for a point where he could influence events.

**Thanks to all my reviewers and people who liked my story enough to read it all the way through.**


	20. Chapter 20 Words Are Good Use Them

Gillian pressed her cheek against the transparent window, uncaring that her behaviour marked her as an inexperienced space traveller. To misquote her favourite author "When I became an adult I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up." She put on an act at work of course, but not here among strangers. The two teenagers behind her, and, of course, every Vulcan on the transport were pretending that this was a routine thing, not worthy of their attention. A group of younger children clustered at her feet, overseen by a human woman who was trying to look casual and guarding the children.

Rushing up below her was the first alien planet she'd seen. Its dry red surface filled more of the screen with every second as the shuttle descended. A rumbling filled the air preventing conversation and the shuttle shook. The rushing air distorted the view at the bottom, but bit by bit the swirl of red dirt became marked with darker shapes that coalesced into round buildings, some low and Vulcan coloured, others tall and more modern in shape and building material. Below her lay the sprawling city of Shi Kahr. Other engines kicked in and the shuttle corrected course, levelling off and flying into a building where the view became boring beige walls. The walls of San Francisco's civilian shuttle port sported murals and art from various Federation cultures but this must be illogical. The movements and sounds of people preparing to leave faded into the background as Gillian turned her attention inward. No one was saying anything she cared to remember for the rest of her life.

There were, as it turned out, obligations involved in being a Vulcan citizen. She had received a summons from the Matriarch of R'hil N'dat, the clan she was now a part of, telling her to attend Vulcan at the request of T'Pau of the S'chn T'gai, Spock's clan. She had sent back her acceptance after asking her boss for advice. She had continued her training in the labs on board the Farragut, and was on leave as of this morning. She'd taken the shuttle craft as it was much cheaper and more fun than the transporter, albeit slower. She intended to extract every bit of fun from the trip she could. She expected the interview with Spock's grandmother would be hideous in every way. And if it wasn't, that would be a pleasant surprise.

If T'Pau had waited, it would have been unnecessary for her to warn Gillian away from Spock. Perhaps the conversation would end when Gillian told her Spock had already called it off. Not in as many words, Spock wasn't good with emotional concepts, but it had been obvious. She had half woken the morning of his shore leave, feeling him beside her but when her outstretched hand touched the cabin wall she remembered he was not coming until later that day. The bond between them had slammed shut and that had been the end. Awkward silences had filled their much anticipated trip to the Louvre until he made a transparent excuse about having to return to the 'Enterprise' to check on his experiments, at night. He had cut short the visit to go camping with Jim and Leonard for the remainder of their Shore Leave before their first mission. When he had come to her that night, she was surprised and had clung to him, knowing it was the last time. The sex had been great but he had not melded with her and hadn't contacted her since. She had expected it from the start, known he would move on to someone else, but it still hurt.

She was the last off the shuttle and walked through the security station, catching up with the passengers waiting for their luggage. The majority of them were Vulcans and they had arranged themselves in a line, with several gaps. By seat number, she thought, checking out the insignia of the man standing near one of the gaps. He had the seat beside her on the shuttle. The few non-Vulcans clustered together to her right. With breathtaking suddenness, the luggage sled slammed into the cradle and she reached forward and grabbed her suitcase and hand bag. With military precision, the Vulcans moved off to their destinations, leaving a few cases for the illogical. Antigravity in the suitcase made it light to pull as she walked to the numbered exit; all signs were in Vulcan and Federation Standard, people watching as she went. The air was cool, Federation Standard, so she wore a thin wrap she could use as a head covering over the light pants and tunic which were recommended for humans on Vulcan. A soft murmur of Vulcanur permeated the air as Vulcans greeted their returning relatives with restrained stoicism. She could understand some of it, although it would take intensive training for her to speak intelligibly. She'd never managed to lose her hick accent in English, much less another language. She breathed easily, a slow release triox capsule inserted under the skin on her arm, but the high gravity pulled at her. If circumstances permitted, she might get some sightseeing in the next three days.

She approached the gate where three figures stood waiting. Spock's adopted daughter Saavik, flanked by two guards dressed in the metallic ear covering helmets of antiquity. Sonic weapons must have been popular in the past. Saavik, dressed in her Starfleet uniform, hair bound back, stepped forward and held her fingers in the ta'al "Greetings, Dr Taylor."

"It is agreeable to meet you, Saavik," Gillian said, returning the gesture and smiling. "Spock has spoken of you often."

"It is agreeable to meet you also, Dr Taylor," said Saavik.

Saavik led the way outside, hot air blasting them for a brief moment until they crossed to the closest vehicle. Rank has its privileges. Gillian had been hoping for a closer glimpse of Vulcan but could only see traffic and buildings.

The door closed sealing them into a well lit room with T'Pau, an alien queen enthroned in the rear seat, draped with butt ugly but important looking regalia, bodyguards taking up residence standing beside her. The air was warm but not hot and faint vibrations were all that indicated the air car' lift off. Silence prompted Gillian to offer the ta'al and the greeting in Vulcan, she ranked lowest. T'Pau gave the salute in response. "You may sit.' And Gillian did so, hands folded in her lap as she had so many times in the presence of her own grandmother.

"We have entered the lands of the S'chn T'gai Clan,' T'Pau announced. Gillian had no idea how she could tell, the car was sealed and silent. Had she counted the time since take off? Was the shuttle port part of it, then why the pause? "All these lands have been in our family for thousands of years. We are the descendants of Surak," intoned T'Pau with great drama.

Gillian thrust her chin up and wound her fingers together. She wasn't going to win this one, so why try. "I'm impressed," she replied. "My grandmother dumped my father in an orphanage because she couldn't make the dates of his conception line up with when her husband was in town. Neither of my parents finished Ninth grade. I'm pretty sure I'm not related to anyone of any importance."

T'Pau stared until Gillian fancied she could feel her eyeballs on the back of her skull. "Also impressive," she conceded. And Gillian breathed a little easier.

"There are several subjects we need to discuss," T'Pau nodded in Saavik's direction.

"Humans are emotional creatures. It may reassure you to know that it was not necessary for me to have intercourse with Spock on the Genesis planet," Saavik said, her beautiful face deadpan.

"What?" She gaped at the young woman. "Umm?"

"I would have," Saavik continued, "If it had been necessary,"

Gillian stared at her, this was a bizarre conversation. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "I didn't think for a moment that it would, from what was described to me," she reassured her.

"Why not?" asked T'Pau from her seat on the opposite side of the air car.

"Well. Because Spock aged from nothing to 54 years old in 24 hours, so that's nearly 20,000 times normal aging.

"19,107.25," corrected T'Pau.

"At a continuous rate," continued Gillian, used to pointless Vulcan interruptions, "It would take less than half a minute for him to progress through the eight days of pon farr and die. Saavik said that the planet and Spock were aging in waves, so if you assume that he managed to land on one of the forty eight possible days of pon far in 52 years, he could stay there for a few hours until the next wave of aging with a one in two and a half thousand chance of it being another one. He'd have been really unlucky to land at the end of day eight. His mind was like that of a baby, right, with some maturation of the walking function of the brain which occurred when he aged past a year. He might have cried, but I'm sure you've heard babies crack up when they're hungry, like no one's ever been in so much pain before."

Saavik replied into the silence that followed Gillian's remark, "It must have been in the early stages, he was distressed by it, but it was not fatal. Calming him seemed the correct thing to do."

"Of course," said Gillian. "But I bet you're glad you didn't have to, you know. That would have been gross, like having sex with a warm corpse. Especially one you think of as your father. Ew. Plus, I bet David was against it."

Saavik inclined her head. "We fought when I told him my decision. He told me it was over between us if I proceeded."

"I'm sorry," said Gillian automatically, tears pricking at her eyes. It must have been hard for her to lose her father figure and her lover at the same time.

"Kroykah," commanded T'Pau and Saavik closed her mouth on whatever response she would have made. Stop, translated Gillian.

"Spock is now Sarek's oldest living biological son," she intoned. Gillian nodded, unsurprised. Even a cursory knowledge of Vulcan biology showed that Sarek was too old for Amanda to have been his first lover. Vulcan custom dictated that he be betrothed at seven, so who knew what had happened to that girl. Vulcans had a lot of weird privacy rules and as a non-family member she was not to know family secrets. She wondered what had happened to him. Was he dead, gone into the priesthood, married out of the clan? Not the last one, the way T'Pau had phrased it. Now would be time for the lecture on why Spock had to marry a Vulcan, move home and make babies.

"There is some resistance to Spock being Sarek's heir." said T'Pau, surprising Gillian. "Why?" she asked.

"He is half human." T'Pau explained, as though to a child.

"I thought Vulcans preached Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations?" asked Gillian. A philosophy which would seem to preclude racism and other assorted isms.

"In theory, yes," T'Pau said. "There was…illogical behaviour by his classmates when he was a child, attempts to obtain an emotional reaction from him." Bullying in other words, Gillian hoped the parents had reined it in as soon as possible.

"Well I hope they felt stupid when they grew up a bit," retorted Gillian, annoyed on Spock's behalf. "He's not really half according to what Ambassador Sarek said."

T'Pau flicked an eyebrow in a questioning manner. Gillian explained, "He said that Spock was engineered to be Vulcan, which would make sense from a genetic point of view. It must have been much easier to make him entirely Vulcan than something halfway between, with the differing biology. Make Sarek's genetic contribution dominant over Amanda's and the only problem would be her carrying a non-human child without her body rejecting the foetus. Essentially, it would be like Sarek having a child himself, a pseudo-automictic parthenogenesis if you will."

A thought occurred to her. "They must have done a good job with the genomic imprinting, to make the paternal genes dominant even during the cloning process on Genesis. Very impressive work. Of course, the main defect of androgenones is the poor placental development which wouldn't be a liability, considering."

"You have spoken with Spock on this subject?" asked a curious T'Pau.

"No, but I've done my first year of classes at the TSA, they covered basic molecular biology. It's easy to see where the problems would be. You'd need some good genetic linkage to make sure Spock got a full set of genes for the right heart." Followed by hybridogenesis of his future children, which would drop Amanda's genetic contribution from the germ line forever, giving a fully Vulcan child.

"It has been suggested that Spock may ask you to be his wife," T'Pau said.

"I don't think he will," Gillian assured her. T'Pau's eyebrow arched and Gillian stared back, defiant. They were adults; it was none of her business what they did. Just because she disapproved, didn't make it wrong.

"You do not wish for this to occur?" she asked, disapproval obvious. Her poker face could use some work.

"I hadn't thought about it," she lied. Vulcans were bad at reading faces, weren't they? She ignored the voice in her head that said with their lowered emotional range, they might be great at it.

"Vulcan emotions are not shallow like those of humans," said T'Pau.

Gillian gritted her teeth, resenting the implication her emotions meant less, were less worthy. She smiled to unclench them "Perhaps Vulcans don't have stronger emotions than humans. Lower emotional resilience is equally likely." Spock had told her that Vulcans didn't 'get over' things as easily as humans did. She thought the lack of sleep and dreaming might have something to do with that.

"It would be unusual for a Vulcan to engage in a casual relationship," T'Pau said, as though Gillian hadn't interrupted.

"More or less unusual than dying and coming back to life?" asked Gillian. The seat shook with suppressed laughter from Saavik.

"The choice of a mate is an important one for a Vulcan. A failing in one's mate can mean death to a Vulcan male. It is not a suitable subject for amusement." Her pointed gaze moved from Gillian to Saavik.

Chastened, Gillian settled in her seat, listening, lowering her head to the carved decorative button on the front of T'Pau's dress. "What is your opinion of Spock?" T'Pau asked.

"He's nice. I like him," said Gillian. "And I won't stand in the way of what he wants." That should reassure her.

"You will allow him to break off your relationship without fighting for him?" T'Pau asked.

"Yes, of course" replied Gillian. What, was she expecting Gillian to offer to fight T'Para to the death? Well, maybe that was a possibility with Vulcans. She would have to look into it some more. She should have done more research but there were only so many hours in a day. Into the resulting silence, she explained further. "There's not much point in holding onto someone who doesn't want to be with you anymore." Been there, done that one, she preferred to keep her dignity these days.

"You think Spock wishes to sever your relationship?" Gillian nodded, the lump in her throat made it hard to talk. She took several deep breaths to clear it.

"But you still allow him the benefits of an intimate relationship despite his lack of commitment?" Gillian's head shot up, disbelieving her ears. Wasn't this a taboo subject for Vulcans? Especially grandmother Vulcans.

"Why not," Gillian said, making a conscious effort to relax her fingers so she wouldn't have bruises.

"You appear to be suffering emotional distress due to the relationship," T'Pau said.

"Everyone causes you pain, eventually," she said, triggering the Stare of Doom. The noise of the engine shifted as the air car made an approach to landing.


	21. Chapter 21 Aftermath

Spock materialised in his father's house on Vulcan, weary to the bone. He had not slept in days, nor touched Gillian's mind in weeks. He had not dared. He craved his bond mate's presence and he could not risk it. He had given his word to T'Pau he would keep the bond closed unless Gillian gave him permission and in his present state he could not guarantee he would not lapse again while he slept. He still had the task of telling his father his eldest son was now dead. He had not needed to tell Jim Kirk that this was a task he had to complete face to face. Jim had set the course for Vulcan before getting Uhura to open the comm channels to Earth.

Hot dry air surrounded him. It was agreeable to be comfortable for once and he could feel his muscles relax. He stood in the atrium, the large metal doors in front of him, stone ceiling high above with corridors leading off to the main parts of the house. A faint breeze stirred the hangings and brought the smell of his mother's rose garden and the distant tinkle of flowing water. A soft continual susurration caused by the sand hitting the shield and falling onto the ground was soothing to his ears. He turned at a familiar footfall behind him. "Spock," said Sarek's voice. His father approached in his usual calm manner hands folded over the front of his robes. The security system would have alerted him to Spock's use of the transporter.

"Father," he responded. Now the moment was here, he wished it wasn't. An illogical thought, he pushed it away. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it. "I have news from our latest mission."

"I have read the reports you sent," Spock knew his father well enough to tell he was puzzled, though a stranger would not.

"There is information I withheld from the reports." Sarek stilled, not breathing. He had no doubt deduced what Spock was going to say, there was only one bit of information Spock would need to give him in private. "The identity of the cult leader was one who was known to me. His name was Sybok." An anguished cry broke from Amanda and she rushed forward from the hallway to grip Sarek's arm. Sarek himself remained still and silent. The Reldai had broken all familial bonds to Sybok on his exile from Vulcan. Unlike with Spock, Sarek would not have known for sure whether his eldest son still loved, or the moment he died.

He could say nothing else. There could be no formalities for a person, who no longer existed, it was inappropriate. That Sarek should have this moment here, in private, with his wife for support was the only concession Spock could grant.

The three formed a frozen tableau, broken by Sarek unclasping his hands and placing his arms in a comforting manner around his wife. She had been Sybok's stepmother after all and had raised him for several years. And comforting her gave Sarek something to do. Spock excused himself to the nearest comm console and informed T'Pau, who thanked him for the information and stated her intention to visit. Spock found this intriguing; he had not thought she would seek to comfort her son directly. Perhaps she grew sentimental in her old age. He checked the computer access records which informed him the other occupants of the house were still at work or otherwise absent.

He hesitated before returning to the atrium. It was bound to be an uncomfortable emotional scene. He was incorrect, he entered an empty room. His parents had left, to their bedroom no doubt, so Amanda could console her husband. Thus, it was over and done, the moment he had been dreading. There was still more, but the worst was past. He could count on T'Para not to react emotionally to his news, although he had hoped to secure Gillian's affections before having this conversation. He still had to visit Saavik. He had not written to her since he left Vulcan four months ago, he had been unable to articulate his emotional reactions to anything that had happened since his death.

He took the ancient stone stairs to his childhood room, where he meditated, sorting through his thoughts and reactions to the events since the 'Enterprise' left Earth. It was easier now with one source of stress removed. Sybok's appearance had triggered memories from deep within his psyche. Memories buried deeply during the fal-tor-pan on a subject which remained unmentioned since he was twelve. He had stared at the terrorist on the screen in front of him and known…something. Sybok stared at the screen and his mind had reeled with the onslaught of memories. It had been a struggle to maintain a façade of calm to cover his internal confusion.

He could feel the bond to McCoy in his mind, part of his concentration devoted to holding it shut. Bonded Vulcans were immune to a lot of mental tampering including the ancient, forbidden technique Sybok used to acquire his followers. Spock had known what memory haunted McCoy as soon as Sybok said his pain was the strongest. The memory had been overwhelming as he watched McCoy relive the worst moment in his life and struggled with both sympathy and the urge to do violence to Sybok to stop him. He hadn't fought his emotional reaction to watching McCoy grieve over his role in his father's death, had reached out and let the t'hy'la bond reform, counting on him not to alert Sybok.

Then Sybok had turned to him and pressed his mind against Spock's. Spock fought briefly but yielded. He had matched minds with Sybok before and come off second best. It was illogical to waste his strength. Sybok's mind probed his and he pushed forward some of his memories and fears. Sybok exulted and grabbed them. They were the ones he expected, Spock's childhood fears he was too human to be worthy of his father's admiration. They were still there but distant, the pain faded now beneath Sarek's recent praise. So recent Sybok would not know of it, the holo-novelists had not yet released their latest offering. He judged Sybok would attribute the lack of emotion to the fal-tor-pan rather than the real reason.

Spock had allowed Sybok access to part of his mind, his attention on concealing the active bonds from detection. Once the Compulsive Bond was in place, the pressure of Sybok's mind eased. Spock swept most of it from his mind, leaving enough that his actions would not be detectable. He stared at McCoy, pressed against the wall and felt his comprehension as his free will returned to him. McCoy had followed Spock's lead, urging Jim to reconsider, knowing he would not let Sybok touch him. Then he stayed behind on the pretence of further persuasion.

The security system alerted him to the entrance of T'Pau's air car through the gates of the enclosure. He calculated the time from the end of the com call. She must have been closer than the Main House to be here by now. Had she been en route? It was possible she had known of his appointment with Sarek. No one kept information from the Clan Matriarch if she wanted it.

He watched the formal procession of her body guards up the stairs. T'Pau's rigid upright form followed them, she eschewed the litter today. The First Attendant T'Lind left the driver in the front seat and took her position three steps behind her. He knelt and bowed his head as she entered the Atrium.

"You may rise, child of Sarek." She stared at his face as he did so. "I presume you have come here to sort out your marital arrangements."

"That would be a logical use of my time," he agreed.

"Yes," said T'Pau. "Your wife is in my air car."

Spock had not expected this development. "Gillian is here, on Vulcan?"

"Logic dictates she must be," said T'Pau "Or she could not be in my air car. Are you still set on this course of action?"

"I am," he said, following her to the top of the stairs. The guard opened the car door at T'Pau's nod. Gillian's blonde head peered out of the doorway, followed by the rest of her. She laughed in excitement, looking around at the courtyard. She then dropped to her knees to run her hands through the red dirt of Vulcan. T'Pau would have had to have kept the windows darkened to have Gillian's attention on the journey from the spaceport. Gillian would otherwise have found the sights of Vulcan to be more interesting than speaking to T'Pau. Saavik followed behind her and urged her to her feet. Gillian stood, letting the red dust trail through her fingers, brushing her pants clean.

Spock tried to see her as T'Pau would, without emotion clouding her point of view but found it difficult. He could only see his beloved here, come to see him. It was important for her to make a good impression on T'Pau. She had the authority to sanction the marriage or not. His mother had been Sarek's consort, not his official wife, for many years before T'Pau relented. He wanted an official acknowledgement for Gillian.

She had cut her beautiful blonde hair short the week before he left Earth. He had been devastated, though she had done it for him. He had expressed the opinion that curling her straight hair with chemicals for fashion reasons was illogical. He had meant she shouldn't have it treated again, not that she should cut off all the permed parts, leaving a scant two inches of baby fine hair. She wore a brown tailored tunic and matching slacks, now dusty at the knees and carried a small rectangular bag across her shoulder. As she took the stairs, she slid something from her hand into the bag, a rock perhaps.

She took the steps two at a time and arrived at the top panting, a light sheen of sweat across her forehead, Saavik close behind her in Starfleet uniform. Greetings exchanged, they retired to a nearby parlour where the servants had prepared refreshments. Spock was still pouring tea when Sarek and Amanda arrived, necessitating another round of formalities. They all waited for T'Pau to begin.

"The bond between T'Para and Spock was severed at his death. Death is usually considered to sever a marriage permanently but it is also usual for the deceased to remain that way." Gillian choked a little on the pastry she was eating, swallowing the mouthful she had and placing the remainder back on the plate. "After previous successful fal-to-pans, the couple have asked to be rebonded as soon as possible. This was not done in this case." Spock watched Gillian intently. He suspected her expression was what passed for emotionless for her but she did not look pleased, and wrapped her arms over her midsection.

"Spock tells me when he assisted Dr Taylor with a mind meld between her and the Cetaceans, a marital bond formed when Dr Taylor went too far into the meld and he was compelled to rescue her. It is thus my judgement the marriage between Spock and T'Para is null. T'Para has the status of a widow of this clan with all attendant rights and responsibilities." She turned and addressed Dr Taylor "I have clarified your situation. You may leave us now. There is official clan business to attend to." Gillian looked shocked at this abrupt dismissal and opened her mouth as if to protest. Spock tensed and prepared to cut her off, one did not disobey the Clan Matriarch. Gillian must have rethought her strategy, she stood, nodded to T'Pau, spun on her heel and left. A technical breach of etiquette, she had not made the appropriate salutations to the Matriarch, but an understandable one for a woman who had no training in Vulcan rules.


	22. Chapter 22 Gillian Is Really Mean

He found her standing at the window of the guest room, the light of the sunset casting patterns across her face. Her luggage sat untouched near the doorway, handbag abandoned on the lounge. She should have the larger suite adjacent to his where the wife of the heir slept. Since T'Para still resided there, the attendant must have shown her here. He waited while the last reds and gold faded from the sky, giving way to complete night. He wondered what she was thinking. It must have been a shock to her to find out so bluntly. He hoped she would not hate him.

The pale light of T'Khut shone on the gems in her necklace. She turned to face him as full night fell and the automatic lights came on. "I thought you said Vulcan had no moon?"

"It is not a moon. Vulcan is part of a binary planet system. You see the other planet T'Khut in the sky." She nodded, the trace of a smile curving her lips as she turned her gaze back to the sky. "So Vulcans would have poor night vision not extra good?"

"It is similar to that of humans. The dark time lasts several hours." It was worse than a human's but by a small margin but he could force his body to generate extra rhodopsin if he was going to be in low light conditions for some time.

"Do you mind?" asked Gillian, her head still turned away. Spock blinked. It had been the last response he expected. "Why would I mind?" He was more used to human idioms than he had been.

She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes "You could do better. Find someone cleverer, more beautiful, longer living." Looking at her, so pale and beautiful he replied without hesitation "I could not. You are the one I require."

She tilted her head to the side and took slow steps until she stood on the same woven carpet in the centre of the room as he, "Have you told her?"

He inclined his head. "It was my duty to tell her in person."

A tiny wrinkle creased her forehead. "Of course you had to." He was pleased, not only was she not annoyed he had to talk to T'Para, she seemed to approve. A small part of his tension eased. T'Para had responded with formal phrases of acceptance, as was logical. His actions wouldn't have been a surprise to her and he did not think she would have an emotional reaction to the news either way. Her strong emotional bond to her deceased husband had contributed to how tenuous his own bond with her had been.

He dismissed her from his thoughts and asked the question whose answer he most wanted. Direct question seemed to be the best method of dealing with Gillian, who had little time for hints and lies. "Do you mind?"

Surprise flicked over her face and she stared at him wide eyed. "No. As long as you are happy, I am happy." Spock was relieved, but it still wasn't the answer he was looking for. Melding could be an addictive experience, even incompatible people would resist breaking it and in the past it had not been uncommon for Vulcan divorcees to decide they had changed their mind and want their spouse back. This was unfortunate if the spouse in question had re-bonded. The kal-if-fee was a representation of how possessive Vulcan could be over something they no longer wanted. He hooked his fingers behind his back and forced himself to talk. Why was this so difficult? She talked about everything else.

"You do not seem enthusiastic about the prospect of marriage. If you would prefer a human husband, I will release you from the bond." He would do this thing for her, if she wanted it.

"No," burst from her lips and she flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest. "It's just, I thought you were going to be married to T'Para again, so I thought it better to keep my emotions to myself and not burden you with them like Christine used to." She ducked her head, keeping it pressed against him as she did so, muffling her voice. "I just, I mean, that night I could tell how alone you felt and since I had been feeling… alone since you helped me with George and Gracie, I thought how you must feel after breaking a long held marriage bond and how mean your wife must be, not to let you bond with her again until she had to, so I stayed to talk. I thought that was all you wanted. When you wanted more, I figured you thought of yourself as single until you got married again. Like, planning to have an arranged marriage is not the same as being engaged."

Even Gillian had to take a breath at that point, so Spock took advantage of the gap. "You thought I was going to re-marry T'Para?"

"Um, yes, um, Nyota told me you were. I mean, she said you told her. "

Spock conceded "I did say that, to Nyota, not long after the fal-tor-pan. That there was no logical reason to change spouse and I would re-bond with T'Para if she had no objections." He grasped her hands and looked into her eyes, which widened as he removed the restrictions he had kept on their marital bond. He was giddy with pleasure and he closed his eyes to savour the sensation. It was unnecessary, she had agreed, this would be a constant in his life from now on but he did it anyway. He let the bond settle and leaned forward to touch her soft pink lips with his. She returned his kiss for several minutes before breaking off to ask "Is that how it should be, does it stay like that all the time, can it still be more like it used to be?

"It can be at any level, yes, most couples keep it steady at a lower level to enable both partners to work without being distracted, we shall have to find a comfortable level, yes, it can be like it was, if you lower you mental shields or become distracted. Do you have any more questions?"

She curved her lips in a sensual smile, "How fast can you get your clothes off?"

She tugged at his hands but he refused to loosen his grip. "There is more." She stopped struggling and waited.

"Jim Kirk has been my friend for many years." She nodded and waited for him to continue. "He is an excellent Captain and has many fine qualities to recommend him." He felt her bewilderment. "He is brave and loyal to his crew and in particular to his friends. His intellect is superior for a human and he often finds unorthodox solutions to problems." He hesitated, that didn't seem like enough to describe one of the best friends he'd ever had. Gillian asked in a perplexed tone, "Are you asking me for permission to be friends with Jim?"

"No," he should have spent more time planning the words for this part, not looking over old memories. This was important too. "When Vulcans have close friends for many years, it can sometimes happen that mental bonds form between them."

"Like the one between the whales and me?" she asked, the confusion clearing from her face.

"It is similar. Yours feels different but that may be because of the extreme difference in species or the fact that I have never felt a t'hy'la bond from the outside before." She nodded understanding as he spoke.

"So, you are warning me…no, your bond would have broken when you died. You want to re-t'hy'la yourself to Jim. That makes sense." She was not annoyed, good. "What about McCoy?"

"Him too," he said. She canted her head to the side and grinned. "Aren't you going to say nice things about him too?"

"You have met him," Spock said, keeping his voice steady. "His good qualities should be obvious."

"Hmm," she said. "No, I don't think so. Jim can pass but not Leonard." Was she serious? Her smile had gone, lips thinned to a straight line.

"He saved my life," Spock protested. "And my father's."

"That's his job, he's a doctor," she said, arching an eyebrow in his direction. Her emotional reaction was… neutral.

"He destroyed the M-113 monster, saved Jim on Vulcan at the kal-if-fee with his quick thinking, and sacrificed himself to the Vians at the Minarian star system. He carried my katra for 29 days at risk of his own sanity. He went far beyond the requirements by his job." Could she not see he was worthy? How would he tell the man who had risked his life to save Spock's that he would have to undergo the removal of their bond for the third time? He hadn't understood the necessity when Spock had undergone kolinahr.

"He's grumpy and I don't think he likes me very much." Spock had thought they got on well, apart from the one argument over McCoy's attempt to pull out her chair and the lecture she gave him.

"Dr McCoy often sounds grumpy, but he is a caring individual. I have no doubt that he likes you. He is…he is my friend."

Gillian's lips twitched and she raised her hand, and Spock's, to cover the giggle that escaped her mouth. "Well, okay then, if you really want." He frowned at her. He didn't quite get human humour anymore, if he ever had. He was too relieved to challenge her. There was still the last topic of discussion.

"It is most disagreeable for me to inform you that I have violated the sanctity of our marriage." The smile drained from her face and her bottom lip quivered. Sick anxiety churned Spock's stomach. She swallowed, "Go on."

"There were extenuating circumstances. The ship was under attack by terrorists." She gripped his hands "What?"

"The terrorist was using mind control to overcome crew members. I had to protect Dr McCoy." The look on her face, as though he had slapped her, faded.

"So…you are already t'hy'la with him? Despite what you just asked?" Despite her annoyed words, her short nails stopped digging into his fingers.

"Yes, I thought it would help my argument if you agreed he was a suitable candidate. It was wrong, to admit another to my mind without your permission, even if you did not know of our marriage but in the circumstances, it seemed the best option."

"You keep saying him. Not both of them." He was not going to be able to keep anything from her, ever.

"Indeed. Earlier in the day, Jim fell from El Capitan and would have died if not for my intervention. It was…an emotional experience." The memory of his fear when Jim's grip had loosened still came to him despite intense meditation. After today, he hoped he would be able to rid himself of it.

"You called it a violation of our marriage. Are there going to be any bad effects from having so many bonds everywhere?"

"Not to you, while they are alive," he assured her. He had explained the consequences of partner death to her when she wanted to bond with the whales. "Our marriage bond will keep you safe. It was more difficult the first time." She nodded "You and Jim kept being attracted to the same women."

He gave a hesitant nod. "We appear to have similar tastes in women anyway, but the bond exacerbated the situation."

"Okay," she said. And he relaxed, allowing the sense of Jim and Leonard to regain their familiar place in his mind. He hadn't realised how much he had missed them until they returned. She slipped forward, wrapping her slender arms around his waist.

"Are you going to do Leonard, now?" Gillian asked, her voice muffled by his uniform shirt. "I have already done so,' he said. "Dr McCoy has a low psi rating. You may feel him more strongly in a few days or after our own bond is fully embedded." He regretted introducing another difficult topic of conversation, he was still tired but he could relax now, Gillian had agreed without rancour to everything he had requested and now she was here, pressed against him and his body was reminding him that it had been three weeks and four days since the last time that happened.

Gillian sighed and pressed against him. "If you're nice to me, I might let you read Leonard's letter," she hinted. His hands slid over her back, down to cup her buttocks. He lifted her with ease and carried her into the adjacent bedroom. "I think you'll find I can be very nice."

T'Khut was low in the sky as he entered the courtyard nearest his parents' bedroom, where he found Sarek. Not meditating but inspecting the rose bushes he had planted for Amanda so many years ago. Dark shadows stretched across the ground, obscuring Spock's view of his face. He moved towards his father, wanting to offer comfort but not sure of what to say.

Jim Kirk's familiar voice floated through the air, "…don't know how a kid that size even contained that much poo."

"Indeed," said Sarek. Spock rounded the corner to see Kirk slouching in one of the stone benches which ringed the circular courtyard, Dr McCoy sitting upright beside him, beer in hand. Spock's "Captain Kirk, Dr McCoy" brought a boyish grin to Jim's face.

"Jim," he corrected, 'You're still on shore leave. I thought I'd drop in to say hi and see if Ambassador Sarek wanted any more details about our recent mission. I thought you might be … busy. And here we are." Jim had spent many hours with Sarek during the early part of their exile on Vulcan.

"It went well," said Spock. "Due in some small part to the eloquent letter Dr McCoy sent to Gillian." The last line of which had asked Gillian not to show it to Spock.

"You sent Gillian a letter?" asked Jim, casting an amused and impressed glance the doctor's way.

McCoy scowled "She was the one making the decision. It was …" he said the last word as though it tasted bad"…logical." He groused "She wasn't supposed to let you see it."

"She told me only some of the contents," Spock assured him. And after she was asleep, he had read the entire thing. He glanced at his father. Sarek crushed a rose petal in his fingers, releasing the sweet smell into the air and watching the conversation.

"Well, I only said some of that because I thought you might need some help in convincing her to marry you. Seeing you're a Vulcan and might need the help. I didn't mean all of it."

Spock arched an eyebrow in McCoy's direction as he walked closer to the two men. "You mean you lied to her?"

"I embellished the truth a little, that's all," he said, swallowing a sip of the beer and avoiding Spock's direct gaze.

"So, when you said that you had never had a finer First Officer or friend, you meant that I was merely a good First Officer and an adequate friend?"


	23. Chapter 23 You're Not The Boss Of Me

Icy rain splattered down on Gillian's arms, stinging her flesh wherever the drops hit. She inhaled the fresh scent of it and laughed. There were subtle differences in the smell compared to rain on Earth but the fresh smell on wet soil overshadowed them. She eyed the sky above, grey clouds covered the sun a lighter patch denoting its position in the sky. It was still early morning but all the native fauna was in hiding. The pale yellow flowers on the low scrubby silver green bushes were limp and bruised by the pouring water. She gathered the water bottles from where she had arrayed them on the brown cactus, avoiding the bright red thorns. As a human, water was her first priority. Keeping cool was her second. She tied the water bottles together and tucked them under her waterproof poncho. Then she set out over the rocky landscape, ahead of her pursuers.

The water pooled and ran off the surface of the stony ground, flowing downhill to the sea far below her. She watched it with interest. She'd read of it, of course, but never seen it before. She picked her way carefully over the rocky ground, avoiding the stunted silver grey bushes until night fell over the land with surprising suddenness. She did calculations and knew her goal was in reach if she pushed forward. Her mouth was dry from lack of water but she did not drink, her water wouldn't last if she did. Not drinking for twenty four hours told her body she needed to conserve her water.

By the time she reached the small cave she was exhausted and freezing. The air had cooled to the point where frost rimmed her water bottles and her feet were numb. Her legs however, were aching and she sank into the shelter, shivering. She forced herself to move, stacking a fire out of the dry wood she had collected a few hours earlier, using the flint she had in her pocket, to light the fire. The paper lit and she soon had a small fire burning at the entrance to the cave, which would keep predators out. She stacked the water in the far end of the cave. She thirsted for it but decided to wait until morning. Then she wrapped herself in the dry poncho and slept.

She woke in the night and groaned; she was exhausted and ached all over. She fumbled for the PADD and checked the time. It was two a.m., six hours past her twenty four hour deadline. Thirst has woken her. She was parched and lifted the bottle to her throat and tried to sip it. Instead, she guzzled half of it down in one frantic draft. She dragged it away and looked at what remained, it would have to last her the rest of the day. She had seven bottles to last until she reached her goal. She slept again and when she woke the desert wind was blowing the smoke through the entrance to the cave. Sighing, she checked the temperature on the PADD, which it downloaded from an orbiting satellite. The satellite, in turn would record her position.

It was lower than she'd thought; the wind must feel warmer against her cold body. She stretched, and checked she had everything she'd brought with her. The stiffness worked itself out of her body as she walked. A tumble of rock from the curve of the canyon caught her attention as she passed. She swung around, straining to see the cause, but, human or animal, she couldn't see it. Humanoid, she corrected herself. It would be a statistical anomaly for it to be a human on this planet.

The day was similar to the last, a long walk on dry hard ground while cold desert winds buffeted her. She had to pay close attention to where she put her feet so she couldn't enjoy the alien beauty of the landscape. Except for when she stopped to reapply the cactus pulp to her lips, then she gazed around at the fantastic rock structures sculpted by the wind. Layers of rock in red ochre, black and brown rippled and curled over the barren landscape, forming fantastic loops and sculptures. Low scrubby bushes with brown, yellow or grey green leaves struggled for life in the rocky soil, while small creatures hopped among them for protection. She didn't get too close to them. Spock had warned her even cute creatures on Vulcan could be deadly. They were prey animals though, spooking at her presence, so they did not worry her much and when she ate her lunch, she sprinkled the remains at her feet and watched them dart in for a snack. The brown red berries were nutritious, light to carry and a source of fluid.

She kept alert for any signs of pursuit but did not see any and began to relax. The future was so full of people, packed so close together. Here, though she knew it was an illusion, she felt alone for once. Of course, she would have liked some company at night, some company in particular but you couldn't have everything. She began composing the Introduction to her new article. Introductions always bothered her the most. They seemed pointless to her, like the public speaking theory about repeating everything three times so people could remember it. University had been so much easier than High School, she'd been able to read the books or lecture notes and knit through any compulsory speaking. Her lips curved at the memory of her Microbiology lecturer reading out her name in surprise after the first set of exams. He'd thought her a woman only there in search of a husband. She'd quite enjoyed explaining to him in front of the class why she never paid attention to his incoherent ramblings. Of course, then he'd been humiliated and that had sucked the fun right out of it for her.

Amanda hadn't had to do this, as Sarek had married a Terran citizen, not a Vulcan citizen with Terran ancestry. Most aspects of Vulcan law considered Gillian an adult and allowed her to drink and vote but T'Pau had insisted she was not eligible to be Spock's wife until she had completed her kahs wan. Gillian suspected it was a test of her character. She hadn't been sure whether to submit to the demand or stand up for herself. In the end she had taken the middle road which was why she was here, on the other side of the planet, not on S'chn T'gai ancestral lands. It hadn't been what she'd envisioned when Jim announced they were staying in orbit around Vulcan while he handled debriefing over the Paradise City diplomatic incident. She had selected the area she was in due to its forecast rain and potential for annoying T'Pau whilst satisfying Spock's request not to annoy his grandmother.

The PADD screamed a warning and she threw herself to the ground. A trickle of stone to the West betrayed the aborted action of the attacker. To be sure, she turned the volume down so it was just audible and extended her arm in a circle, performing a rough triangulation, while her left hand crept to her waist. The warning beeps were loudest when she aimed towards the sun. To the East, she corrected her earlier thought, the sun rose and set in the opposite way on Vulcan. She pulled herself back to a standing position when attack seemed less than imminent and walked backwards, away from the canyon wall. She would need the extra few seconds. Her heart pounded in her chest and she had to tighten her grip to prevent her hands from shaking. She wondered how long it would take, should she walk back further, or would action trigger the attack.

A black shape blocked out the sun and she flung her arm up in defence. She heard the crackle of a phaser in her ear and fell backwards. A dull heavy thud sounded and the ground beneath her vibrated. Her arm went numb and she struggled back to a seated position. The backlit humanoid silhouette was visible for an instant on the skyline before it vanished. The grey lump beside her grabbed her attention. The le-matya looked like the result of some mad scientist cross breeding a mountain lion with some form of leathery skinned reptile. Subtle stripes of varying grey ran the length of the tail and blocky patches of colour ran along the spine. She circled it, interested but careful to avoid the poisonous claws. She ran her hands over the spine, feeling the warm skin and the depth of the enormous cat's breaths. And it was tiger enormous despite the fact it was most likely on the cusp of puberty, a young male, newly separated from its mother, trying to make its way in the world and likely to be dead by early in the next mating season. She dug out the tagger and pressed it again the neck, feeling the solid beat of its heart. So, not all Vulcan's inhabitants had non-hydraulic hearts, interesting. The others would be along soon to relocate it.

She continued her walk, letting her body work out the panic. She was in little danger. Spock had ignored her command not to make special provisions for her and had one of the other Inspectors looking out for her. This was why she now had a numb arm which was going to take hours to wear off. She snorted with annoyance that he did not consider her equal to the task. They would have words when she got back. She kept walking, there were 32 seven year olds twenty four hours behind her and there might be more bachelor le-matyas in their path. Spock had been quite chagrined when he found out the adults did a sweep of vicious predators from the kahs wan path prior to letting their children loose in the desert. It had improved her opinion of them, but had increased Spock's guilt at i-Chiyas death. If he had not set out early on his kahs wan in a defiant snit, sorry, moment of illogic, his pet might have lived years longer than it had.

Having performed as an Inspector qualified her as having completed her kahs wan without the humiliation of having to set out with a herd of little children. A loophole used by the numerous Rigellians who had married into the R'hil N'dat clan over the years. When they had finished their official business, Spock, McCoy and Jim were going to finish their aborted camping trip at a forest near Vulcan's South Pole. It had sounded well, fascinating, but by the end of ten days, she might like to sleep in a nice soft bed.

**Author's Note: Okay, this one did not advance the plot a lot. It was a stage I went through, trying to make the start of the chapter end differently to the way it seemed to start. That's why it starts out really cold on Vulcan. **

**I left it in though because honestly, I think whoever wrote that it's a good idea to send seven year olds on a ten day survival hike didn't know many seven year olds. I have suspended my disbelief enough to leave in the survival part but had to remove the dangerous Vulcan eating predators because it just makes everyone look like complete idiots, including Amanda for agreeing to it. Especially since everyone in the future seems to be total city dwellers. City dwelling seven year Vulcan without phaser vs poisoned fanged le matya= bad.**

**I'm sorry about the delay this time, the kids are home from school so not much time to myself. There are only so many chapters since I reached a few that didn't need much revision. There'll probably be a bigger gap next time too as I've realised that I don't have a McCoy point of view for quite a while so I think we'll check out what he's doing next chapter before getting back to Kirk.**

**To my loyal reviewer lacroix and anyone else who might have the same question. I was thinking that Spock offered to show Gillian back to the transporter (via the scenic route) after her tour of the Enterprise and wasn't casual enough. Look, he was just passing through Engineering okay? Scotty got suspicious and tracked Spock's transporter usage and told Uhura because he's sweet on her. I don't particularly ship Scotty/Uhura, but since it's canon…**

**I changed the location of the Barrier because, again with the stupid. The Centre of The Galaxy is too far. It's actually a part of space from which Starfleet knows no ships return and so they avoid it. I'm invoking my handy 'it's a recreation' clause by which I retconned away 'Spock's Brain', the weird numbers in the levitation boots scene and a couple of other really stupid parts.**


	24. Chapter 24 Everythings Going Well

"Keptan, we are under attack…" An explosion rocked the Enterprise, cutting off Chekov's frantic warning. On the main view screen, the decloaked Bird of Prey loomed, covering three quarters of the screen.

Alarms sounded throughout the ship and Uhura made the alert announcements. Kirk cursed to himself. That blasted bounty the Klingons had put on his head. He ordered shields up and evasive manoeuvres but too late. The ship rocked again, setting off more sirens. "Uhura," he called and she cut the volume. It must be hell on Spock's ears; it was giving him a headache. Why didn't the designers listen to his recommendations? He made a note to himself to ask Uhura to tape the bridge noise and he could send it to one of the designers. At 3 a.m.

"Return fire, Mr Chekov."

"Firing now, Captain.

Kirk grinned. He always felt alive when someone was trying to kill him. The fact that it was Klingons made him more determined not to let them succeed. He ordered the ship to manoeuvre again. "Mr Spock, is there just the one ship? We don't want to be taken by surprise."

"Scanners indicate one ship. However the first cannon blast knocked out part of the sensor array so there is a significant area in the delta sector of the array from which we can receive no data."

"Uhura, get rid of the blind spot." She bent her head to realign the nearby sensors. Kirk rescinded his previous navigational order, rotating the ship so the blind spot was in motion.

"Sensors report two Klingon vessels. One is an older model, discontinued in 2245, in poor condition. It appears to have taken significant damage in battle. The other is newer and in better condition. Captain, this appears to be an attack by a temporary alliance, not than the Klingon High Command."

"Thank you, Mr Spock." He turned for the next report.

"Captain, Security reports problems in Transporter Room 3, Johnson and Graham aren't answering. We suspect a boarding party landed during the first blast," reported Uhura.

"Chekov, send more personnel to check on them and guard the transporter room. Send another squad to track down any intruders."

The ship rocked with the impact again. "Mr Sulu, can you dodge a bit better."

"Sorry sir, I'm flying blind here." The ship lurched again but there was no accompanying impact blast. Sulu's hands worked frantically and the ship rolled forward and then accelerated out from between the two Birds Of Prey. The ship shuddered and the thunderous explosion obliterated all other sounds. Kirk's shoulder slammed into the floor in front of his chair. He rolled to a crouch, then stood, waiting until everyone returned to their stations. "What was that?" Kirk demanded as soon as his hearing returned.

Alarms rang through the room, but no one spoke until Spock looked up from the Science Station. "There was a third ship, still cloaked. We have collided with it. The collision has occurred in the aft saucer section. I am no longer receiving data from the Bio lab. Jim wasn't sure what shocked him most, the possibility of Gillian's death or the fact that Spock had lost composure enough to state he was worried over the possibility. Okay, Spock hadn't used those words but he had said he wasn't receiving data from the Bio lab, not the whole section.

"Captain, Security reports a battle on Level 4. They estimate ten hostiles. Two more casualties on our side," reported Uhura. "There is a preliminary damage report for Level 6, hull breach has been contained. Six confirmed casualties from the Bio Lab." Spock didn't react to this but Jim noticed him glance down at his communicator. He reached for the thin thread which was the re-established bond to Spock but was unsurprised to find it all but undetectable. Standard procedure when Spock was most emotional.

He snapped orders for the Security and Medical teams and he lunged out of his chair and around the railing to stand beside Spock. He murmured, "Any news on Dr Taylor?" Spock replied, his voice quiet "She appears to have lost consciousness. The extent of her injuries is unknown to me." He would not ask for special treatment, Jim realised. It would not be logical. All lives were of equal worth. He shot a pointed look to Uhura who nodded in understanding and turned to her station.

"Medical is on its way," he assured Spock then resumed his seat in the Command Chair.

"Sulu, what are the other Birds of Prey doing?"

"They're hanging back, sir. The crash seems to have surprised them. Their plan is probably in disarray."

Jim nodded. "With comm silence, they can't be sure whether the boarding party made it onto the Enterprise or was still on the ship. They don't know whether to attack, make a run for it or beam up their allies."

"Klingons will be unlikely to choose to run," said Spock. "They still have two space worthy vessels. The number and location of the boarding party will affect their plans."

"Uhura, any further reports?" Kirk demanded.

"Medical has reached Level 3; the destruction of the Bio lab has been total. Casualties are climbing. I will send the names to your PADD." Jim nodded. He'd look at them later. Uhura had read them, so Gillian was not there. Spock said she was unconscious, so there was still hope. He ordered Warp 3 on their original course. The Klingons would follow while he had their allies aboard, but there was no need to make it easy for them.

"Uhura, can you raise the Klingons?"

"They are not answering our hails, sir." Unsurprising, the Organian treaty forbade attacks on the Federation.

"Keep trying, anyway, Commander."

Reports kept coming in as the 'Enterprise' and the two remaining Klingon ships settled into a holding pattern. Their course took them closer to Earth, putting pressure on the Klingons to disengage. They had to be prepared to abandon the Klingons aboard ship. The Enterprise fired two photon torpedoes but the faster Klingon ships avoided them without effort.

Jim started to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. He turned the situation over in his mind but was unable to locate the source of his distress. He wondered if he was getting leakage from Spock's emotion but a glance at his First Officers stoic face decided him against that conclusion. No, the problem was the Klingons acting out of character. Was a member of the boarding party someone important? Someone they couldn't go home without? Or…?

"Mr Spock, the Klingons seem…persistent, yet not aggressive. Can you think of a reason why?"

"Logic suggests there is more to the attack than the facts we know. Perhaps a member of the boarding party has significance beyond their value as a soldier. Perhaps the boarding party has in their possession a weapon which, when deployed will allow them to take over the 'Enterprise'."

"A nasty thought, Mr Spock."

"Indeed."

Spock flipped open his communicator a moment before it chirped and Jim's hopes rose. Gillian's voice echoed through the bridge. "What the hell? Spock? What happened?

Spock exhaled before answering, a subtle tension leaving his shoulders. "Dr Taylor. The ship is under attack and on red alert status. Due to the destruction of the Bio Lab you are now non-essential crew. Please return to your cabin for the duration of the alert. You may report damage in your area to the Maintenance or Security Division. If you have sustained a serious injury, please report to Sick Bay. Treat minor injuries using the Medikit in your room or Aid Stations located at major intersections.

"Umm, yes, sorry Captain Spock. No injuries except for a bump on the head. I can't see anyone else. I think I'm trapped, the door's blocked with rubble. I can hear someone screaming…"

"The Enterprise colli …" A high pitched squeal from the comm system had Uhura tearing the headset from her ear. When she replaced it, she toggled her controls and turned to Kirk. "Captain, there's static on all channels. I can't reach anyone."

'Keep trying, Commander Uhura. Spock?"

Without lifting his head, Spock replied "There is considerable interference to sensor data. I can still access the ship's computer but it is not receiving data by any means other than direct entry. Ship's systems are still functioning. Logic suggests the situation may worsen. Our hypothesis the torpedo damaged the sensors appears to be incorrect.

"The blast diverted our attention while a device attached to the ship. It's method of attack appears to affect the flow of data through wireless signal. So far hardwired ship systems are unaffected, although I cannot guarantee this shall remain true. It is not possible at this time to determine whether the device is automatic or under manual control. In either case, the deflector shield is the next logical target."

"Have you got any ideas for stopping the thing Mr Spock?"

"Insufficient data at this time, Captain. If direct control is required, we must keep the device separate from the Klingons on board ship. If it is automatic, I hypothesise the delay is from the power requirements of the device. It came over unpowered to make it less detectable to our scanners. It would then need to leech power from the ship's system. I am therefore running an analysis of the power usage of the ship. This will help determine the location of the device."

At which point, Jim would need to be in contact with Security. Or Scotty might be able to bleed power from the thing depending on what powered it.

"Are we thinking this device is lodged on the outside of the ship, Spock?

"It is possible. Or one of the Klingons carried it when they beamed aboard. It could be controlled by a hand held remote."

Jim tapped his fingers on the armrest. "Mr Kyle should have detected unauthorised beaming. Uhura, did Kyle use the comm system at all between two minutes before the first explosion and the Security Report about intruders."

"No sir," said Uhura after a short tap at the controls.

"There is an energy usage consistent with the demands of the transporter, 16.3 seconds after the second disruptor cannon blast. It is logical to conclude therefore that the device attached itself to the exterior of the ship. From there it determined the shield frequencies which permitted the unauthorised entry."

"Sulu, take over from Chekov. Just keep them busy. Chekov, we need to stop those Klingons if they have a remote. Assemble a team as you go and try to meet up with the team that's already there." Chekov made the changeover and raced off the bridge.

"We also need to get rid of the device before the shields go down. I'll do it. Spock, calculate where it's most likely to be and then work on neutralising the device. I assume you noticed the Klingons have avoided using their photon torpedos."

"Uhura, you have the conn." He shrugged at her surprised look. Spock outranked her, but he was going to be busy and with the comm system down, she was the better choice. He left the bridge and pointed at the Junior Communications Officer in the Ready Room who rose to take Uhura's place.


	25. Chapter 25 Who Mourns The Redshirts

The burnt flesh of the Security officer slid underneath the clear gel of the treatment tank. Anti-gravity lifted him a few millimetres off the surface of the bottom, allowing the gel access to his flesh. Clamps kept the tubes down his nose sealed off and a solid pad of gel mixed with glue kept his mouth closed. The mouth would be the last thing to heal but the pad would keep it in this condition until he was well enough to be out of the tank. McCoy ran the sensors over the man one more time in case he'd missed an injury. Drugs had kept him unconscious since he entered sickbay with burns to 75% of his body and a broken leg. Tearing off the skin tight gloves that covered his hands, Leonard stretched his neck and looked around. Every bed he could see was full, but two thirds of the medical staff was on duty, attending to the patients.

Sheets covered the faces of a number of the beds, waiting for him. If there had been need, they would have sent the bodies to the morgue to make room for patients. He peeled back the sheets and ran the tricorder over each body in turn, confirming the diagnoses and signing off. As Chief Medical Officer he knew all the crew members by sight and felt better if he looked them in the face before sending them off duty for the final time. None were good friends, he kept a professional distance, but he did their physicals and monitored their psychological health and knew them well. It had been many years since he'd accepted an offer from any of the Security women. Storing their body in stasis for six months until they went back to Earth shouldn't be creepier than immediate burial, but it was. And it was harder again if he'd kissed their warm lips good bye and wished them luck as they leapt out of bed at the alarm, eager for a fight.

The list of injured was long but most were broken bones from the failure of the ship's inertial dampeners. Today's deaths had been quick, at the hand of Klingons, no one had entered sick bay alive and left in a body bag, so while it wasn't the best of days, he would be able to sleep without a slug of bourbon tonight. The five burn victims would all live to fight another day. That day might be weeks in the future, but it would come because of him and his staff.

He entered his statistics into the computer at his desk, cursing the ship under his breath when it wouldn't upload from his PADD. The life signs scanner wouldn't respond. It often didn't during combat when he needed it most. Scotty often bled non-essential systems of power during combat. He tried not to complain too much, it wouldn't do any good to have the scanners up if the ship exploded but he was happy that medical's main power was a subset of life support. Now communications were down and they had to send messages by relay. At least Medical was self-contained and they could just yell across the room at each other. He'd hate to imagine how Kirk was communicating with Scotty down in Engineering. Carrier pigeon? Guesswork? Perhaps Scotty hadn't noticed?

Of the remaining crew, eight had not indicated their presence at work stations or quarters. He read the names, new crew sometimes didn't remember in a combat situation. He frowned at Gillian's name, which was blue, denoting that someone else had reported contact. Spock had made the entry, nineteen minutes after the attack. He frowned, had someone reminded her, or had she not been able to contact Spock until then? He mapped the work stations of the crew, three red in the Bio Lab, surrounded by a ring of black for the dead and Gillian's little blue name. The others a vertical stack on Levels four, five and six. The wing of the Bird of Prey, he guessed, looking at the black names, clustered where the body of the other ship had hit. The other wing had either hit storage or was dangling in mid-air.

"Al-Hamid," he yelled at his Head Nurse as she showed the orderlies which crewmen to take to the morgue. "What's the status of the retrieval crews?"

She turned her head towards him, sleek black curls bouncing round her shoulders. "Two are back. They brought in the latest dead. Chekov has closed off Levels 6 and 7 due to enemy action. One crew is in there, arguing with security. They don't want to let them in because the rest are probably dead."

"One had a blue tag," he argued.

"That's our argument," she confirmed. "I sent a runner to the bridge and they told me Dr Taylor reported in by comm just before it went offline and said she heard someone screaming. So there are two possibly still alive on Level 3. The retrieval team can't find anyone and they're swept it twice.

"Why the nineteen minute delay?" he asked, frustration making his voice brusque, even though it wasn't her fault.

"I don't know, sir." She was calm and self-possessed, waiting for his orders.

Frustrated, he typed a request to the computer and pulled the audio file of Gillian's last communication. As her voice played, he cursed, loud and fluent. Nineteen minutes without communication and her head hurt. The explosion must have knocked her unconscious. Hadn't anyone heard of concussion? Why couldn't the retrieval team find her? He looked again at the schematic, and accessed the computer records. Gillian had logged on to her work station at 0900 and a steady stream of data analysis had flowed until twenty minutes before the attack when it ceased.

"She was on one of the lower levels when the attack took place," he announced, stabbing a finger at the display. "It's why she survived the crash and why she could hear someone else who survived." He stared at the small crowd who had gathered at the door to his office. He spun the screen to face them "And now they're injured and trapped in with the hostiles."

"Security has to let us in now," Ellison countered his round face triumphant.

Dr McCoy dispatched two teams to cover Levels Four and Five, and joined his main team at the entrance to the turbo lift. The guard disagreed, claiming it was too dangerous, he would have to wait. McCoy yelled back that several of his team were Security, which was true. Ever since he'd spotted a budding med student who hadn't quite passed the gruelling exams for Starfleet Medical but had passed for Security, he'd made a point of nabbing his orderlies from Security personnel. The Ensign gave in, opening the lift. Al-Hamid smiled at the guard and offered him the PADD to sign and McCoy slipped in the lift, squeezing to the back. His last view of the guard was the back of his head as the doors slid shut. As CMO, he didn't go with the retrieval squads often but he had an unusual skill this time.

The orderlies took point, checking out the corridors with phasers drawn. The paramedics followed, scanning in all directions for signs of life with personal tricorders. The emergency override had forced all the doors open so as not to trap the crew. They had closed half the distance between the entry point and their goal when Clark gestured for their attention. Gathering close, they found the limp, grime covered body of a young man. Pinned to the ground by a fallen support, he laid face down, unseen by the retrieval squad until he moved. The scanner showed his main problem was smoke inhalation with some bruising to his back when the weight had fallen after he lost consciousness. One of the orderlies lifted the support one handed while another accessed the stretcher, joining the poles and activating the anti grav to form a square pallet out of a rectangular bundle. His retrieval cost them two orderlies, one to pull the stretcher, the other as a guard. The transporters were down, not uncommon in combat.

The second retrieval was worse, a young woman sprawled face down in the corridor, disruptor burns telling the tale of her death. They tagged her and left her there, they'd retrieve the body later by transporter. He drifted back behind the squad and leant against the wall after they turned the corner. He drew a slow deep breath and went through the lowest level of meditation exercise. It would be too humiliating if anyone caught him using this Vulcan mumbo jumbo. He had spent three months of Vulcan and having several Vulcan priests in his head probably hadn't hurt. Eyes closed, he groped for the others in his mind. A blank area which would be Spock and the excited and energetic presence of Jim Kirk were familiar to him. He reached for the newest, smallest presence, the bright presence of Gillian and 'pulled' it towards him. Pain exploded in his head. That had never happened before, him achieving more than he tried for but then, there hadn't been four of them last time. He pushed her away until the pain ebbed. He opened his eyes and caught up with the team. He could feel her there ahead of him. Not close, which made sense if she was fleeing pursuers who had come in the same way he just had.

He motioned to Ellison and they moved, quick and cautious to the remains of the Chem Lab, which was the team's first goal. The walls of the far corner sagged into the room, a heavy sensor from a floor above had damaged the ceiling. Torn and gaping support beams peeled away from the walls. The smell of burnt flesh and plastic tickled the back of his nose. Green arterial splatter in the destroyed corner trickled away to a smaller pool. McCoy examined it. A blood splattered strip of blue fabric with a knot in the ends lay discarded on the floor. A primitive tourniquet, applied to stop the bleeding. Small footprints he decided were Gillian's traced a frantic pattern across the floor, from the main blood pool to the other side of the lab and back. It wasn't hard to see what she had done. Most of the leg lay beside the blood, the sharp blade of the section tool beside it, still warm to his touch. The sour smell of vomit filled the air as he got closer.

The team swept the room for bodies, dead and alive. There weren't many hiding places, so the search was swift. They assembled near the door, looking for tracks. The bloodied footsteps stopped at the doorway, where the decontamination mat was set on the highest level. Ellison cleared his throat and pointed at a smear of brown, waist height at the wall on the left corridor. The squad fell into formation and they followed the trail as far as it went. Spots of blood on the floor showed she took the right turn on the next intersection. He knew she had turned left again at the next one, so he strode ahead as though he'd seen proof. "Alternating turns, we can go faster." No one questioned him and two turns later, when they were starting to slow and look again, streaks in the soot showed drag marks on the floor and they quickened their pace.

The heavy march of boots put the squad on alert. McCoy drew his phaser. He had set it on four to be sure it would render the Klingons unconscious for a reasonable amount of time. Level one would put a human out for about five minutes but had little effect on stronger races. They ducked into an open door and hid behind the boxes of equipment. The Klingons didn't even break stride as they passed the cross hallway. Too far and too fast for an attack with a guaranteed success and McCoy wouldn't let them reveal their presence for anything less.

Fabric rustled behind him, grabbing his attention, it was often the first sign of someone wounded. He spun towards it, calling out in a quiet voice "Fleet Medical." No point in calling the Klingons back. A hand flopped forward from beneath the shelf and he knelt, grabbing hold of the blue clad arm and pulling. Muffled moans greeted his efforts as he dragged the limp body into the open. The others rushed to join him, danger forgotten.

He recognised Dr Abbot from Chem lab. Her brown hair was wet with blood which soaked though the uniform. Torn fabric revealed the bruised and broken flesh on her left side. Her head lolled in his hands as he reached to untie her gag. The knot was in her mouth, wet and covered with saliva. Ellison dropped the med kit on the floor at her feet, running the dermal regenerator over her cuts and burns, pushing some of the gaping cuts closed with his fingers before running the machine over them. "She's given herself painkiller," he said. "Or, at least it's missing from the kit." Clark groped under the shelf and retrieved the empty hypo. Ellison gave her a second dose and the crew worked on the worst of her injuries. Retrieval was a difficult enough job when the patient was stable and quiet.

She moaned and flung out her hand, knocking the med kit from Ellison's hand. It fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. Her body shook with a seizure, arms flailing about. In the distance, he heard guttural voices and fear flooded him. The team had everything well in hand. He stood and moved to the hallway, steps as silent as he could make them. He waited, hoping they would move on but the muffled thump of running soldiers came towards him and he ran, banging his phaser against the wall to make enough noise to draw them after him. The shouts and thudding steps confirmed that his prey was enticed, now he had to lose them again. His weapon was in his hand, he just needed somewhere to get a good shot at them.

He took two turns into side tunnels which weren't obvious openings unless you knew they were there. The smoke was getting heavier, making him choke. He was nearing the impact site. Gillian, too, her fear was making acid churn his stomach. He had to turn away, before they trapped him. He turned again and growling voices echoed along the corridor. Was it the same ones? If they'd turned left instead of right at intersection 17, they could be in front of him. Otherwise he'd run into another patrol and was trapped. He twisted the control setting to widen the focus without looking down.

A jangle of music sounded in front of him, the opening strains of an Andorian composition whose name escaped him at the moment. He ran towards them, phaser lifted. If he could shoot two before the other two arrived, he might have a chance. He saw them round the corner in front of him, disruptors at the ready and squeezed the trigger. The front one stumbled, revealing a third humanoid shape behind them.

Something struck his head, the world went black and he slumped to the floor.


	26. Chapter 26 Dazed and Confused

Kalelothran

Pain stabbed Kalelothran's sensitive Vulcan ears. The noise of the explosion swelled with the pain before silence descended. The pain remained. Consciousness did not.

The darkness slid away leaving pain in it's wake. A faint distant buzzing resolved into a woman's voice. He began meditating to bring the pain under control. His injury must be severe for the normal disciplines to be insufficient. The pain receded and the information delivered by his senses resolved itself. The lack of light was smoke left over from the explosion, not his eyesight. His hearing was not back to normal, but the thrumming noise in the distance overpowered closer sounds. The scent of copper based blood and burnt flesh filled his nostrils to the exclusion of all others scents. Small cuts and bruises covered his body but the main pain was in his left leg. He tried to determine the extent of the injury but could not make his leg move.

A shadow fell across his face and he looked up to see a concerned pair of blue human eyes framed by pale blonde hair looking back at him. He recognised Captain Spock's new concubine from their brief meeting before the explosion.

"Are you awake yet?" she asked.

"Clearly, as my eyes are open." Humans had an annoying habit of stating the obvious.

"Not that clearly," she informed him. His censure seemed to cheer her a little. "Your eyes have been open several times. And you've been talking too, nonsense I think, nothing I could understand anyway and I speak a little Vulcan. But you didn't slip into a healing trance, as far as I could tell. I wasn't sure if that meant you weren't that injured, or you were too sick to get into one. I was worried."

He wasn't sure why her worry would be relevant to whether he would get better or not but tried to explain. "Slipping into a healing trance is not automatic. It is a deliberate act achievable after years of study." She frowned then. "Okay, well maybe I should have waited until you regained consciousness but I wasn't sure you would and time was running short. A big metal tube thing broke off in the explosion and severed your femoral artery. You were bleeding a lot. The tourniquet slowed the blood loss but not enough." An alarming statement, if her diagnosis was correct and proper treatment not performed, he would bleed to death without proper medical care. He lifted his head to examine his injury and coloured lights swirled to cover his vision. His head dropped down again.

"Don't look, it's not there anymore," she said.

"My leg is not there anymore?" It was always best to clarify statements humans made.

"I had to cut it off to stop the bleeding." That was unexpected. "Can they fix it? I hope so. If not, well, I couldn't stop your bleeding with the tourniquet or the emergency med kit, so at least you'll be alive to complain."

He had no intention of complaining. He lifted his head slowly and examined what remained of his left leg. The stump of his leg protruded 15 centimetres below his torso, the flesh ending in a smooth cut with burnt blackened edges. The flesh of the stump was green and swollen and he could detect the beginnings of infection. The weight on his chest turned out to be a medical kit, removed from its case on the wall. A check of his body showed he was low on blood volume and suffering physical shock. "It is a repairable injury, although it will take several months to grow back. What did you use?"

"I used a sharp piece of metal to finish the cut. It was severed all the way through to the bone and blood was everywhere. I used insulation to hold it while I chopped into your leg. It took a few cuts. Then I used the laser to heat the blade and held the face of the metal against the stump to make sure it was cauterised. I may have overdone it a little. I wasn't sure how to tell if you had internal bleeding. Infection could be a problem too, but you should be under medical care before that becomes a problem. I'm so glad you can get your leg back. That's wonderful." He had heard of cauterisation but today it was high tech compared to the butchery she had performed on him. Effective butchery which had saved his life, he reminded himself.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked.

He pushed aside his health concerns and assessed his level of dizziness. "I should wait longer," he concluded, sinking back to a horizontal position.

"Okay." She disappeared from his field of view and he stared upwards. The smoke haze thickened, obscuring his view of the ceiling. His body jerked across the floor and pain lanced through him. His hands clenched, grabbing fistfuls of a heavy thick material and he realised he was lying on a flat piece of fire insulation. Dr Taylor's first few steps were jerky but her gait smoothed as she dragged him along the corridor and the pain eased to a bearable level.

"I would like to discuss our situation. What has happened? The day was routine until the explosion."

"We are under attack. I don't know from whom or why. I regained consciousness and I used the communicator to ask Captain Spock what happened and the call cut out half way through, before he could give me any details. I haven't seen anyone but you alive since then, although I have heard footsteps but I avoided them. They weren't speaking Standard, they were kind of growling. The Universal Translator seems to be down. Which, I realise, doesn't make them not Enterprise crew but I thought I'd go with the odds." His makeshift sled came to a halt and he craned his neck to see what the problem was. Had she tired already? He was heavier than a human of similar build would be and she was quite small.

"Can you close the doors?" she asked, gesturing towards the billowing smoke. "Do you not have an override code?" he questioned.

"Yes, but I don't want to give away my position," she said. "Could you hot wire it shut?"

"Hot wire?" he asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"I mean, take off the panel and join some wires that aren't meant to be joined," she said. "So the door would close but they wouldn't know it was me."

"They?" he asked.

"Whoever attacked the 'Enterprise'? And Captain Spock," she admitted with a wry twist of her mouth.

He arched an eyebrow. Spock had given her orders, then. To go to her quarters, he guessed. She was not combat trained and her presence in Spock's quarters would provide leverage if they discovered her. She cast him a guilty look. "I was going to my room, I promise. I just couldn't leave you there to bleed to death."

"Open the panel." She gave him a blank look and he realised she didn't know how. He told her where to press and she popped open the access panel and followed his instructions. She was nimble fingered and soon made the door slide shut.

Without a word, she grabbed hold of the insulation again and began to drag him down the hallway. Where were they heading? He tried to determine their location more precisely, but had to admit defeat. "Where are we going?"

She slowed. "Away," she admitted. "I don't know the ship well. Shutting the door triggered an alarm somewhere, so I thought it would be better to be away from it in case someone comes. I'm open to suggestions if you have any."

"Where are we?"

"Eleven turns from the Chem lab, alternating left and right." He had been unconscious longer than he realised.

"Exiting from which door?" he asked but a metallic clang in the distance cut the conversation short. Dr Taylor dropped his sled again and raced toward the sound. He wanted to call to her not to be so foolish but she darted back and crouched beside him.

"Soldiers," she whispered in his ear.

"Yes, I could hear from here," he replied. She flushed but looked at him expectantly. He gave a slow shake of his head. His injury and her inexperience gave them little chance of success. Sighing, she removed the med kit and gripped his shoulder, giving him a reading of her emotional state, which was much calmer and more determined than he expected. With effort, she rolled him over, dragging the insulation from beneath him.

"Play dead, um, healing trance if you can, it's your best chance," she whispered before bundling the sheet in her arms and disappearing into the nearest open doorway. She had left him, he thought. After whatever medical treatment she had given him and dragging him for over a mile through empty smoke filled corridors, she had bolted to save herself and left him to the mercy of enemy soldiers. How logical. She had even remembered to take the evidence of her presence with her. He rolled onto his stomach and dragged himself forward so he would be in the correct position. She had done what she could to save his life, he would return the favour. He took deep slow breaths and relaxed into a light trance, reducing his bio functions to the brink of consciousness.

Two sets of booted footsteps came closer, stopping at the corner. One soldier approached him and slammed his boot into Kalelothran's side. He allowed the moan which sprang to his lips.

"This one's already dying," said one of the soldiers in Klingon.

"We should check," said the other. "He mightn't have been alone." Fabric rustled as the first one raised his arm for the killing shot. A loud discordant noise startled him and he spun as he fired, missing.

He watched their feet as they dropped into wary combat positions. They footsteps faded as they moved from his line of sight towards the crew quarters Dr Taylor had entered. Overemotional human, she had stood a good chance if she had hidden. He waited, there was nothing else he could do and it was possible if he remained still the soldiers might be sloppy and let him live. He dropped into a full healing trance and knew no more.


	27. Chapter 27 Last One Conscious Wins

The hallways were quieter than usual. The rush of crew racing to rooms or stations was over. One passing ensign did tell him the comm system was down, so he nodded. He issued himself a phaser from the armoury and dressed in a space suit before returning to the Bridge.

"Any news?" he asked entering the bridge and standing near Spock. Commander Uhura replied "The computer appears to be malfunctioning on Levels 3-7. Lieutenant Copper has activated evacuation codes for the entire level. Dr McCoy has updated the casualty list to seven, with twenty wounded. Of the remaining crew, eight have not indicated their presence at work stations or quarters." Jim clenched his teeth. Sometimes he hated this ship. They should have ironed out the kinks in the computer on the shakedown cruise. "Chekov appears to have confined the Klingons to levels 6 and 7. All doors leading to and from those levels are sealed and guarded. No reports of enemy action from any other level."

Spock looked up from his station. "I believe I have determined the cause of the computer malfunctions."

Kirk looked at him in surprise. Quicker than usual, even for Spock. "Can you fix it?"

Spock turned to face him. He said, "I believe it to be the work of Dr Taylor."

"How?" Jim asked.

"Although the actions of the computer appeared to be random, there is a pattern to them. While I have not finished my calculations, the gaps between iterations of the actions are always odd numbers, not including five. Dr Taylor has informed me she prefers even numbers and the number five. I have also noticed her tendency to set volume controls at even levels. I believe her to be giving the computer instructions to cover up her presence." Jim was impressed. He had noticed Gillian fiddling with the volume control but hadn't thought anything of it.

"Can she program a computer that well?" he asked.

"She has little knowledge of computer programming. I was instructing her on computer usage yesterday and she was experimenting with instructing the computer to play her music collection." Jim suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Who spent their honeymoon instructing their wife on computer usage? Stupid question. "She spent some time determining what instructions the computer would follow. It was most instructive, she co-ordinated the music system with other ship functions."

"Like what?" Jim asked, curious despite himself.

"The door chimes and clock "admitted Spock, in an almost embarrassed fashion. "Gillian likes to listen to music at a greater volume than is preferable for a Vulcan. She set the volume to lower when my presence is detected near her room."

"I have analysed the radiation emitted by the device and tracked the highest concentration to a point near the sensor array. Some preliminary tests indicate ion radiation similar to that emitted by a photon torpedo has an adverse effect on the radiation, but in an unpredictable and incomplete manner. It will be insufficient to deactivate the device without modification."

"Show me where this thing is," Kirk said. He examined the schematic Spock gave him. Maintenance had a hatch near the array but the bulk of the Bird Of Prey obscured it. It wasn't possible to determine if there was access there or not. Spock had had to guess at that part of the schematic, although knowing Spock, he would call it reasoned determination of the most likely scenario. On the other hand, there was a gaping hole to the atmosphere right where the Bird Of Prey had crashed. Maintenance had extended the Force fields over it, but he could extend that further. He gave the orders and Spock started making the adjustments. Jim checked his communicator and took the turbo lift to Level 6. The guards at the entrance waved him through without comment.

He strode through the passageways, keeping his footsteps quiet and his ears on alert for Klingons. He heard voices at one point and ducked into a side passage. They passed by, talking in their own language which he did not understand without the translator. He caught a glimpse, confirming they were the more human looking sub-group. Were they more aggressive than the others? Or were they a set upon minority, out to prove themselves? Capturing him and the Enterprise would be a fine prize which might gain them social and military kudos.

As he approached the crash site, the pristine corridors gave way to warped distorted metal bars with sheets of insulation between them. The plastic lining littered the floor or cluttered the corridor, slowing his progress. Pressure had twisted most of them but at the top, signs of melting due to heat began appearing. The smell of the black toxic smoke was faint until he approached a closed door with an exposed wiring panel. He opened it and reeled back as the captured smoke roiled out, choking him and stinging his eyes. He grabbed for the panel and redid the connection, then waved frantically to clear the air, staggering up the corridor to breathe again. Finding fresh, clean air, he placed the helmet of the space suit over his head and tried the manoeuvre again, closing the door behind him. His vision was limited, the black smoke had settled throughout the closed off area. It didn't get better, nor did it get worse.

He made his way by memory to the site of the crash. Here, with the 'ceiling' created by the force field much higher than the corridors, the air cleared a little. The Bird Of Prey was almost unrecognisable, one larger cylinder of twisted metal with two smaller outlying wings. He knew from the map he was two floors below what had been the Bio Lab. How had Gillian survived?

He reached the edge of the ship and tethered himself to an intact metal support beam, tugging on it several times to ensure the crash hasn't damaged it. If the shields failed, he would need it to get back. Assuming the Klingons didn't destroy the unprotected ship when the shields went down. Think positive, he told himself. They might intend to ship you back to Qo'noS for torture and execution. He would have a chance to escape and his crew a chance to live. He activated the magnetic properties of the boots and climbed out onto the outside of the ship. It was depressing how easy it was. That was a damn big hole.

It was slow work, the boots dragged at his every step. He couldn't see anything of the size Spock had indicated anywhere on the surface. He hoped Spock was having success on his end. Silently, he blessed Gillian for inspiring his new fitness regime. If he wanted to be an active Captain and not a desk jockey he needed it. He approached the edge and peered over. His stomach roiled as his view changed from looking forward on a ship doing Warp Three to looking backwards on a ship doing Warp 3. He closed his eyes and let his stomach settle. Then he opened them to inspect the black shape of the parasite. It appeared to be a meter wide around the widest part but tapered at each end to a blunt point. He thought he could detect a faint buzzing sound coming from it, but couldn't be sure. It might be an effect of his precarious position.

The stars spun around him in response to the ships manoeuvres and he dropped his gaze to his toes to minimise the nausea. There was a thud and he fell forward. A sharp pain in his ankle told him the anti-gravity boots had kept his feet upright as the rest of him hit the horizontal plane. Around him, brown sparkles rained in a spray on the outside of the shields. The Enterprise had encountered a small meteor which had been broken up by the shields. The inertial dampeners, most effective on the bridge, were a bit…shoddy out here, where no one should be. He pulled himself to his feet and took an experimental step. A bad sprain, he thought and kept walking. The boots would provide some support. He estimated ten more minutes to the shape. He sensed a change in his circumstances but couldn't quite place it.

Half way to the device, he knew what it was when his safety line flapped loose. Either the Klingons had found it or the fall had tugged it loose. He pressed the rewind and the suit sucked it back in. Once he reached the device, he slapped the explosive charge on it and set it so most of the effect of the blast would be outwards. If Spock came up with a better idea, well and good, they would take it back to Earth so the scientists could examine it. Otherwise, he would blow it off the ship. Chekov would have the area evacuated by now, and the shields would be prepared for the blast, he just had to get himself somewhere safe. He looked towards the Maintenance hatch, twin to the one he had considered as his access point. Half the distance he had already travelled, he estimated, and he wouldn't have to climb over the nose. He sighed and started walking. Leave it to him to do it the hard way.

By the time he reached the hatch, his ankle was burning. He punched in his override code and waited. And waited. Nothing. He cursed to himself. He hated this ship. And maybe Gillian. Had she done this? He sat down to wait. Spock had said something about a delay in obeying orders. He could wait a minute or two. He leaned back trying to find a comfortable position with his feet stuck to the hull and flung himself forward immediately. The blast of the disrupter crackled where he had sat. The dark face behind the visor was blurred but grinning. He scrambled to an upright position and approximated a fighting stance which concealed his sore ankle. If he was lucky, the Klingon hadn't seen him limping.

He reached for his phaser. The Klingon aimed his disruptor straight at him and he froze. "Captain Kirk. My name will live on for being the one to kill you. But it will be better in hand to hand combat. Throw your weapon." On the plus side, he wasn't going to be tortured and hand to hand gave him at least some chance. Jim slowly drew the phaser and threw it upwards into the shield which let it pass. The Klingon grinned and holstered his weapon. He clomped towards Kirk, who waited. The Klingon stopped within touching distance and Kirk lashed out with his fist. His opponent caught it without effort and bent Jim's fist back until he whimpered in pain. Laughing, he let go and slapped at Jim's face instead. Jim head rang with every blow. They weren't light slaps from a Human perspective. A trickle of warm air behind him gave him hope and he dropped his hand to his side and bent forward as though in pain, lowering the gravity level of the boots to minimal. Then he lifted his foot to step back. Sensing his defeat, the Klingon lunged at him and they both fell back through the now open hatchway. The boots still clung and Jim's foot was slower through the hole than his head. He heard the snap of his abused ankle through the pain before he lost consciousness.

He came to in a crumpled heap on the floor with an enraged Klingon roaring above him. The Klingon was dangling half in, half out, his own magnetic boots trapping him. As Jim watched, he calmed and began swinging upwards, catching his hands on the hatch so he was level, then reaching towards his belt. Either Klingon magnetic boots didn't take verbal orders or he was too enraged to stop roaring. Jim tried to gather his feet under him as the Klingon pulled his legs forwards and dangled from his hands before dropping to the ground. His ankle refused to support his weight it twisted at an unnatural angle. He couldn't walk on it at all. He hopped towards the nearest door, ordering it open. At first it wouldn't open, but after a delay, it did. Three was an odd number after all. He squeezed through the door and ordered it shut. The Klingon thrust his hand through the door, the safety features preventing it from closing and grabbed the back of Jim's uniform. Jim stated his override code, which would force the door shut. No response, of course.

Without letting go of the uniform, the Klingon clawed at Jim's back, opening long gashes in his shirt. He twisted towards the control panel. With luck, he could force it shut. The Klingon secured his grip and slammed Jim back against the door. Jim struggled and pulled forward but realised his mistake when he slammed back into the door again. He paused, panting, his back and ankle in agony.

Running footsteps were in the hallways. The Klingon heard them too and laughed. Jim turned and reached for the panel again, if he could shut it, he would only have opponents on one side. His fingernails prised the panel loose and it dropped to the floor with a loud clang. The opposite door opened and phaser fire crackled over Jim's shoulder. He turned, the pull on his back loosened and was delighted to see Spock, Chekov and five security personnel enter. He gave them a weak smile, beyond speech and sank to the floor.

Spock knelt at his side. "Jim. Are you okay? Did you find Dr Taylor?" Jim looked at him. "I haven't seen her. Isn't she on Level 3?"

Spock motioned to the security men and Jim noticed for the first time two of them carried a heavy box. They carried it towards the door, which slammed shut in front of them. Spock stared at it for an instant then spoke. "Computer, rescind any order which has been given by Dr Taylor since 0837 hours this morning." The door opened as Security approached it. They stepped around the fallen Klingon and carted the box to the open hatch. They passed it up and used the ladder to climb out onto the hull with it. Two further guards took the opportunity to secure the prisoner and one saluted Chekov. "Twelve intruders found," he reported. "Medical got three and we found four of them trapped in one of the crew's quarters. I have a team searching the Bird Of Prey for the remaining two and the missing crew." Chekov nodded and they dragged the prisoner down the corridor.

Spock moved to supervise the operation of the device. It must have been successful because a loud cacophony of messages and alarms began sounding. They disappeared one by one as the Communications Officer took control. Jim dug out his communicator and asked Cooper to connect him to Dr Taylor. After a small delay, he heard her answer. "Jim here, Gillian. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she responded, her voice amused. "I'm waiting here to be rescued like a good damsel in distress."

"Where's here?" he asked and noted the cabin number she gave him. "I'll send your Knight to rescue you when he's finished rescuing the rest of us." She laughed and assured him she was fine. He asked for Uhura then, who told him the two Birds Of Prey had headed off as soon as the Communications came on so she had kept the 'Enterprise' headed for Earth. The damage was too extensive for pursuit. He snapped the communicator shut and closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall. Would a nap be appropriate yet? He must have dozed because he woke to a sharp pain in his ankle. He opened his eyes to see the Head Nurse Padma Al-Hamid run the dermal regenerator over the damaged tissue of his reset ankle. Bones must be in the operating theatre, he was usually in the zone when he was working. She finished her ministrations as Spock and the two security men re-entered the ship carrying the box containing the Klingon device.

Jim heaved himself to his feet and motioned to Spock who left the guards with instructions on where to carry the heavy device once the antigrav trolley arrived. "Come on, we still have to track down our missing crew members." Spock followed without comment, until they reached the turbo lift. "You know Dr Taylor's whereabouts?"

"Yeah, I spoke to her, she's on Level 6."

"That would explain why she survived the collision. Did you ask why she is on Level 6?" Jim shook his head. They stepped off the lift and wended their way to the cabin Gillian had mentioned. Kirk's leg was aching by the time they got there, drugs had their limits if you wanted to remain upright and Medical had orders about how much they could give him.

The cabin door opened revealing an empty room. Pieces of a shattered vase were scattered in the centre of the room and the drawers and cabinets hung open. Jim's blood ran cold. He reached for his phaser, before remembering it was floating somewhere in space. He glanced at Spock, who had not drawn his but appeared to be listening. Spock spoke softly "Dr Taylor?" and received a delighted 'Captain Spock" as Gillian appeared at the door to the bedroom.

Kirk relaxed. Her forehead sported a large bruise and her uniform was grime covered but she looked well otherwise. Her hair was tangled but hung to her shoulders which was a surprise because when he had seen her that morning, it had been short.

"Dr Taylor, please tell me why you are covered in Vulcan blood?" stated Spock. Jim looked closer, the brown green stain was familiar.

Gillian gave them an impish grin and said "I cut someone's leg off." Before Spock could comment, she waved at the door and they trooped in to see Dr Kalelothran from the Chem lab lying on the floor of the bedroom, accompanied by the limp body of Dr McCoy and the two missing Klingons, bound hand and foot. Spock opened his communicator and started giving orders. Gillian sidled up to Jim. "He didn't mention the hair." Jim gave her a mock severe look. "Dr Taylor, I'm shocked. Spock, discuss a personal matter on Starfleet time? You've just given him time to compose a lecture on why cosmetic hair treatments are illogical." She laughed, "It looked better when I left the salon." She picked up a singed lock at the side and frowned at it. "Now I'm going to need a cut. That's the trouble with beauty treatments, once you get one, you need more. I should have kept the perm."

Her voice trembled on the last word and her hands started shaking. He moved forward giving himself a view of Spock who was examining the Vulcan scientist. Spock was facing the doorway and must be able to feel the panic that was coming off Gillian in waves. He didn't change expression, of course, so Jim wrapped his arms around Gillian and held her tight until the shaking stopped. Stuff it, if Spock didn't like it, he could come comfort his wife.


	28. Chapter 28 Lost and Lonely

He regained consciousness in his own damn sickbay. The antiseptic smell announced it before he opened his eyes. "Nurse, he croaked through a dry throat. Al-Hamid moved into his point of view and he decided that since he could appreciate the view as she leaned over, he probably wasn't going to die. "Report," he said, drinking down the cup of offered water.

"All crew accounted for. The danger is over and I've had you placed in your room." She meant the bed at the far end of the sick bay with accompanying privacy panels. He made sure to sleep in it often enough when he had a late night that no one thought it was unusual for him to be here. "I used your code to issue an order to Captains Kirk and Spock to report to sickbay for a full examination. Captain Kirk hasn't been here since. Captain Spock visited for long enough to drop off Dr Taylor and said he will be back as soon as his schedule allows." He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. "I chased him around sickbay with a hypo of painkiller just in case." It took more than good grades to get the position of Head Nurse on a ship where McCoy was CMO. "All crewmembers accounted for. No further casualties other than the one the retrieval team tagged." She held up the hypos for his inspection before injecting them into his arm and he felt the pain ease leaving a dull throb and a sensation of weakness in its wake. "I'll be with you soon," he promised. There should be a full uniform in the drawer beside the bed. The uniform undershirt and shorts he had on were probably the one he's come in wearing. One indignity avoided for the day anyway.

"There's no rush, everyone's settled," Padma said as she headed for the door. His hand was on the top edge of the sheet to flip it back when Gillian stuck her head around the panel. Scrubbed clean and wearing a hospital shift and pants but no shoes, an outfit that made her look even younger and more vulnerable than usual. "Hiya Bones," she said, smiling at the Nurse as they passed and pulling up a chair. "Want some company?"

"Why are you still here? Were your injuries severe?" McCoy grumped at her. She rolled her eyes in response. "No, I had a couple of burns and scrapes and a concussion which is gone. Spock insisted I stay here. He and Jim are back on the bridge sorting out the mess. I thought I might as well stay until he's off shift at least. Seeing as someone destroyed my lab." Leaving Gillian all alone with no one to talk to and nothing to do but hang around waiting for him to regain consciousness. He settled back in his pillows.

"Although I might have to sue Starfleet for mental distress and suffering," she joked.

"Come on. They attacked us first," he responded.

"Not for that, for the food. The egg flavoured jello which someone called scrambled eggs for breakfast was bad enough. Hikaru tells me you grow fruit in the greenhouse so I ordered some watermelon. Ugh." She shuddered.

He laughed, "You forgot to specify organic?" It was nice to know someone had had a worse day than he had.

"Yes. I mean, it looked like watermelon and it smelled like watermelon but the taste and texture." Another shudder ran through her.

"And I have to say sorry," she continued. His expression must have been puzzled, because she explained further. "You have that headache because of me."

"You did this?" he asked unsurprised. At least half the phaser blasts he'd taken in his life were from overenthusiastic newbies. He wasn't sure how Klingon medics survived combat with the lack of a stun setting on disruptors. Maybe they didn't.

"Well, I got the soldiers too," she said in apology. "I had it set wide since I haven't had a chance to practice with it and you stepped into my field of fire. I had used the computer to lure them where I wanted them."

"Used the computer?' he asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, I told the computer to play short bursts of random music from the resident's music collection then move on to a room 5-10 numbers away. You don't have to talk loud to the computer you know. Most people do out of habit but it will obey you if you whisper. I thought that would be a sensible precaution since there were enemy soldiers on board." She tucked one foot up under her, leaving the other one to dangle in the air.

"You told the computer all that with soldiers outside the door of the room you were hiding in?" he asked, trying to visualise it. He thought Klingon hearing was more sensitive than humans, especially at higher pitch. Tribbles annoyed them so much because the crooning was piercing to their ears.

She shook her head "Of course not, I did all that earlier. I thought up a lot of things that might help and told the computer what they were. I whispered 'Computer Delta' and off it went while I hid under the bed. I instituted a few others, like a random delay before the computer answered or obeyed commands. And I made stuff flash on and off so it looked like a computer malfunction. Anyone who ranked me could countermand the orders, which is easy if they know it's there, but they have to work out what the problem is first. Which would be difficult because I told the computer to answer any questions about its performance at a volume below Vulcan hearing." She snickered, "So they wouldn't get any answers, but the diagnostics would all be fine. Unless whoever attacked us had better hearing than Vulcans, but Spock says that's rare."

"What were you doing in a combat zone anyway?" she asked. "I thought you had more sense."

He laughed, and shifted into a more upright position "No, I used to but those two idiots have been a bad influence on me. Someone's got to save them from themselves." And the rest of the crew needed him too.

"So, you won't be joining us then?" he asked the question everyone wanted to know the answer to. Jim had only just got into space again and wanted his two best friends with him, but it was traditional for Vulcans to live together at least for the first year after marriage. There had been a Spock shaped hole in the bridge crew for a year after he married T'Para. Jim had already sent her an employment offer, although she wasn't really qualified and Spock would have to resign from his position as Science Officer, or drop back at least to Assistant Science Officer since Gillian would be in Science Division.

She shook her head. "No, I came forward to work with George and Gracie and that's what I want to do. I might do a week here and there if you're going somewhere safe, like Andoria. You do diplomatic missions too, don't you?"

"Yes. Will Spock stay on here?" Jim would have told him if Spock had announced his resignation.

Her head dipped forward. "Yes. He only has to have the year off for an official marriage." T'Pau had not sent an official response to Gillian's confirmation of her Kahs Wan. The marriage application was still pending.

"Have you asked him to quit?" She shook her head. "I would hate it so much if he asked me to give up my career, so I can't do it to him." And Spock hadn't offered, if her wistful look was any indication. He sighed and made a note to mention it to Spock, not that it would do any good. "Would you like a Federation marriage? I can suggest it to Spock." He knew Spock wanted official Vulcan recognition due to his non-existent pride but maybe Gillian wanted a nice ceremony.

She shook her head again. "No, really. I don't mind. Marriage is a complicated subject for me. My whole life, everyone pushed me towards it. It was the ultimate goal for a woman and what was important to me, travel, education, was a lesser thing. I worked damn hard to be called Dr Taylor and I'm in no hurry to give it up. " He gave her a doubtful look and received a frown in return. "I wanted to buy a house. I had savings, no student loans, had paid off my truck and had a steady job. The bank wouldn't lend my any money unless I had a man's signature. I ended up having to get my Dad to sign the paperwork before they'd give me a loan, even though I made more than him. It was humiliating. I'm in no hurry to sign up for a traditional Vulcan marriage. I mean, you've seen his parents." He had, and though it was obvious to a casual observer that Sarek adored his wife, she walked three paces behind him and danced on his attendance. Spock, too, had observed a number of Vulcan customs even in the absence of his wife. He avoided being alone with female crew on shift whenever possible and totally in social circumstances. He routed correspondence to women through Uhura to be encoded and was even more standoffish with women than normal. Subtle differences, which not many people noticed since Spock wasn't gregarious to start with.

She held up a deck of cards with a hopeful smile. "You game?" He nodded and watched as she flipped down the dinner tray and dealt out the cards on top of it. "So, extra special treatment from the Head Nurse, should I make myself scarce after shift change?"

He laughed. "I wish, but no, she's married. " He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he picked up the cards. "All the best ones are these days." He didn't know which one was more surprising, Scotty finally getting around to asking Nyota out or Spock snatching Gillian from under Jim's nose. Bet that last one hurt. Unlike Jim, he thought they were well suited. Both were brilliant but lonely people who never really fit in to the society in which they'd been born. He hoped they would make each other happy, they both deserved it.

"Well, you're not," she pointed out. "Aren't you going to stop playing the field and let some woman have the honour and glory."

He hmpfed at her and threw down a card. "I'm too old for all that fuss," he said, hoping she would object and make him feel better.

She placed several cards in order, a nice play but not good enough. One by one, he placed the rest of his cards, leaving his hand empty. She pouted but picked up the cards and dealt again.

"I met one of your old girlfriends the other day, Tonia Barrows. I recognised her from the show. Hey, did I ever tell you I met that Roberta Lincoln Kirk and Spock met. The one who was a Time Agent? It was at the International Conference on Genetic Research and Experimentation in Rome. My thesis advisor was a Keynote Speaker. They had a whole section on genetics as a means of preserving endangered species. It wasn't all about human augmentation, although that was interesting, too. Anyway, she was calling herself Dr Veronica Neary and posing as a geneticist. She didn't say much but she was nice. She was older then but I recognised her. I guess she was doing something about the Eugenics War."

"She must have been afraid too much conversation would blow her cover," McCoy replied. And, before he could stop himself "How is Tonia these days?" He heard things from time to time but never asked. There was no point. Once he'd diagnosed himself with xenopolycythemia, he'd broken things off with her and left the ship. He'd thought it would be better for everyone. Tonia would suffer less on the death of an ex than if they were still together. The bond stretched thinner in the vast distances of space and his death would have hurt Jim and Spock less.

The Fabrini medicine had cured him and Spock and Kirk had taken him back without rancour. But then, he hadn't gotten new friends while he was away and he had married another woman. Tonia had transferred onto the nearest available ship, the Defiant. At least she'd been promoted off it before it vanished into whatever inter dimensional hell hole it fell into.

"She's fine," Gillian said. "Asked all about you, so I told her what I knew. And since she's your ex, I told her we have to schedule time to see you between all the young beautiful groupies who take up so much of your time." She was joking, he hoped. Her eyes were twinkling and she wouldn't look straight at him. Definitely, she was joking. She hadn't said that.

Gillian curled into the armchair, tucking her feet under for warmth and dealt the cards, explaining the archaic rules of games which had faded into obscurity before he was born. Did she regret her decision? Not all the time, but maybe sometimes? Had the choices she made, so obvious at the time led her to a life of much greater loneliness than she had anticipated?

The precise rapping of Spock's knuckles on the door before he entered followed by Padma alerted him to the truth. They'd tricked him. It couldn't be end of shift already. The attack had occurred before lunch and a Level 4 phaser blast would leave him unconscious for two hours, give or take. Even assuming that Spock would leave the bridge in a mess just because his shift ended, it was still hours away. Unless…that traitorous nurse had drugged him and gotten Gillian to distract him for several hours so he stayed in bed. No commendation for her. Not until his temper cooled anyway. He scowled at everyone, receiving a cheeky grin, a calm stare and a 'who me, I'm innocent' look in return.

Spock reached out his hand, two fingers extended and Gillian scrambled to her feet to complete the touch. He would never understand women.

**Author's note: Sorry for the delay. Life has been happening at great speed. My son's getting his tonsils out next week so I'll either get nothing done while I tend to him or I'll have a week of uninterrupted writing. I thought editing would go a lot faster than this but entire scenes keep arising out of single sentences. I've also updated Chapter 26 to fix the egregious error pointed out by my lovely reviewer lacroix. And I found how to enable anonymous reviews so if that's been holding you back, you may now comment.**


	29. Chapter 29 The Ties That Bind

Pain coiled through her with every contraction of her uterus as her body fought to expel the child. It was distant, easy to ignore with her use of the Disciplines, honed to an art over the years. Physical pain was one of the easiest to deal with, one of the first things she had learnt to shield. It would be over soon. She had laboured for hours, walking the ancient halls of the lower levels of Gol until the midwife had led her to the bed. Soon she would be free. Free from him and his child. His death had been more painful than she had anticipated even though she had hated him so much for what he had done to her. For how he had failed to be what she wanted, had destroyed all her dreams and ambitions. She had collapsed when the link was broken, driven to the floor by the acute sensation of loss. For three days, she had meditated to restore her equilibrium before she was able to re-join the other acolytes at their rituals. The agony had ebbed to a tolerable level in the months since. Once she rid herself of his child, her healing would go faster. Forgetfulness would not come to her, she was Vulcan but surcease from pain would be enough. Peace would follow, if she kept to the path.

A foster mother would take the child. In normal circumstances, one of the other priestesses would take the child and care for it, raise it as her own. In this case, the baby was Sarek's grandson, and T'Pau would make arrangements that suited her. T'Sil had not asked. She had no interest in the child's fate. Perhaps Spock would be amenable to adopting and raising the child as he had Saavik. T'Pau's refusal to acknowledge Spock's recent marriage would suspend that decision, at least until Spock pushed the issue. Sarek would not make other arrangements; he turned his mind from any discussion of the inevitable. Denial was common in these situations, it was most logical for spouses to be the same age so the problem would not occur except in case of premature death. Matriarchs made the important arrangements, it was not logical to leave them in the hands of those whom logic had fled. He would not have time after. As T'Amanda aged, the bond would suppress his hormones in response to her aging. On her death, they would re-emerge, all the stronger for the suppression and T'Lind would be there.

With one last spasm, the child slid into the waiting arms of the midwife, who turned, her body blocking T'Sil's view, to hand the child to the nurse while she completed her final duties, collecting the placenta and healing the small tear. The shrill cry of a newborn tore the silence that had prevailed in the room. T'Sil's head rested on the pillow as the midwife moved around, running the sonic cleaner to remove the blood then rolling her to remove the disposable sheet from beneath her. She wanted to put her hands over her ears to block the crying but forced herself to keep them at her side. The nurse finished the health scan and began bathing the child.

She sneaked a look. She intended to continue her studies of kolinahr to obtain the peace that would come from the full purging of her emotions. Thus, she had not made any arrangements to do with having a baby after the birth. She had assumed they would remove the child from her, not leave it to scream in her presence. Taking a breath, she tried to calm her nerves. It was hormones, she told herself. They are making you susceptible to emotion. She had been using that excuse for the last nine months. Nature designs a baby's cry to be distressing to the mother but you can move beyond the dictates of your body. If you want to be a kolinahru, you must move beyond emotion. Her declared status would be why they were removing the baby, they deemed it unnecessary. It was unnecessary. Emotion did not affect her, she told herself.

"Would you like to hold the child?" asked the nurse, offering the small cloth wrapped bundle to her. T'Sil blinked in surprise. She couldn't answer the question without lying or revealing more than she intended. "Why?" she prevaricated, stone faced.

"It helps your milk come in," the nurse explained. "You will need to express for the first six weeks at least. They are the most vital for the immune system." She placed the baby on T'Sil's chest and held up the breast pump to demonstrate to T'Sil, who fought her growing horror. She had thought it would be over once the child was born. The small weight of the child belied her sense of suffocation. Her breath stirred the small tufts of fluffy black hair. Brown cloth obscured the baby's face until a yawn shifted the blanket back, exposing the small gummy mouth beneath the snub nose. Delicate black lashes framed large dark eyes, glimpsed before the heavy lids closed over them. The baby grizzled and made sucking motions at the air. Tiny fingers clutched in vain for purchase, grabbing at its own pointed ear.

By the time the nurse returned, the T'Sil was deep in thought as to a suitable name while her son clamped strong jaws around her nipple, pulling and sucking, drawing not just colostrum, but emotion from some ancient reservoir deep within her, the breast pump abandoned on the side table. Without comment, she assembled all the other accoutrements for caring for a baby. Few Vulcans became kolinahru when their children were so young. Even fewer were women.

The harsh cry of a seagull echoed in the distance as waves broke over the sands, collapsing into white foam and he relaxed, feeling some of his anxiety ease. He was a country boy not a surfer but now the sights and sounds of the ocean attracted and welcomed him as much as the green leaves and melodic songbirds of his childhood home always had. More and more often, he found himself walking beside the ocean, inhaling the salty smell instead of lurking at home drinking to get rid of stress and loneliness.

Five year missions were too disruptive to domestic bliss and Starfleet had phased them out in favour of shorter missions. A year or two to collect data for a doctorate or have combat experience was all most people wanted. He'd done two, during the prime of his life and was still paying the price. It had taken years to build a relationship with the daughter who barely knew him except through his infrequent letters. His job kept him busy and he didn't have time to establish new relationships, platonic or romantic. His old friends had understood. They were in the same situation and they had all rubbed along together quite nicely, clinging to each other, assuring themselves they were fine. At least when those two constrained their idiotic impulses to risk their own lives a little. Until Starfleet forced Jim to accept a promotion which took him off the bridge of the 'Enterprise'. Jim's hatred of his job and Spock's advancement in Starfleet while he stayed behind on Earth had begun to damage their friendship in a way Leonard thought nothing ever would. He had gotten his command back, but that wouldn't last forever. He was more at ease with his role in his father's death and wasn't feeling the urge to punish himself so much. He was…discontent with his life. Watching Spock stroll around the bridge smug as a cream fed cat, to those who knew him well, had made him aware of the lack in his own life.

His watch beeped, letting him know it was time to go. It wouldn't do to be late. He'd taken an earlier transit pod to avoid being late, then lurked around the Hawaiian beach waiting for the meeting time. Pedestrians passed in the opposite direction, little more than a blur. The art and landscaping of the walkway wasted on him. He didn't allow himself to slow the pace of his walking. It wouldn't help. Waiting never did. It often made things worse in his experience. He had made up his mind, although not without some help from Gillian, he suspected, looking back over their conversations. Not that he'd be able to point at anything she had said and accuse her. She was sneakier than she looked. Even the invitation to visit her work in Hawaii was a good cover for this visit. He was going to go through with it. Find out, one way or the other. Even if she said no, the death of hope would be a good thing. Closure and all that rot, moving on, whatever you want to call it.

Numbers flicked into his consciousness and he came to a halt before the tall building. White columns decorated the outside of the door. A classic design that reminded him of his old house in Georgia where he still spent his free weeks. He rented a modern apartment in San Francisco but was seldom there, sleeping on the ship or at Kirk's during the work week. Commuting cost a fortune but he spent little on anything else except presents for his daughter Joanna and his incomings covered his expenses without touching the years of Fleet wages which had accumulated in his account.

The doors slid open at his approach and he walked forward to the turbo lift and announced his destination. His voice was firm, showing none of the stress he felt, he noted with relief. Green leafy plants on white plinths lined the corridors, tugging his mouth up at the corners. Gillian had gifted him with a full set of Pratchett's works for his birthday. He reached the door and admired the elegant calligraphy replacing the standard printed number on the door. She was expecting him, he had sent a request for a meeting and received a standard reply with no personal note attached. The door slid open in response to his presence and she was standing there, older, but just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. "Tonia," he said. She smiled at him and his voice failed after that, abandoning his carefully prepared speech. "Leonard, come in."

A waterfall tinkled in the background. Dark green foliage framed the window, dotted with red and orange hibiscus. Gillian stood illuminated by the soft pearl light, her face turned upward, expression expectant, waiting for her lover. Spock moved into view, placing his fingertips on her jaw, drawing her forward and pressing his lips to her in a passionate kiss and Kirk turned away. From behind Kirk, a gentle touch on his arm revealed Nyota.

"Taken up voyeurism?" She slipped her arm through his and they turned away, walking back along the manicured path to the others.

"A refresher course every now and then is good," he said. Nyota shot him a concerned glance. He rushed to reassure her. "It is overflow from Spock's emotions, now our bond has re-established itself. I remember not thinking of her much at all after the trial. I have to remember that. And not think about how totally my type she is."

"You could remember how she dumped you on Interstellar vids," replied Nyota with a cheeky grin. Kirk groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "They had to include that part."

Nyota snickered. "So, did you steal that guy's girlfriend or what?"

"Could be, that would explain the gleeful laughing when they refused to change it out." Nyota rested her head on his shoulder and they walked on. She broke the silence, not laughing this time. "It seems strange, that this would be normal for Vulcans."

"If I were a Vulcan, I'd have my own bond mate and it would protect me from this." Spock had hinted around the subject. He didn't like to discuss the implications. Two guys and a girl was a bad combination. Spock had dealt with it in the Vulcan way. He had stood back and let Jim attempt to win her. After the trial and Jim's visible failure, Spock considered it was his turn. If Jim had realised how Spock felt he wouldn't have invited Gillian to dinner. Of course, if he'd known she was going to slap him and storm out, he wouldn't have invited her either.

"Is it that bad?" Nyota at least was concerned for him. His feelings for her hadn't been affected by Spock's death and rebirth so at least they were his, which had been a concern of his since Spock had hinted at the side effects of being t'hy'la to a Vulcan. It was a problem with no solution, so he grinned and turned the subject into a joke. He might give it another shot with Nyota after she split up with Scotty. He'd been hoping ever since he'd convinced her strip and dance on Nimbus 3.

"It's terrible. I haven't fallen in love in weeks, months, even." She laughed as the path opened onto the courtyard around the pool where Scotty and Bones sat wearing their ugly Hawaiian shirts. Jim seated himself besides Bones who offered him a brandy "What are you two laughing about?"

"Jim is telling me how he gracefully stood aside so Spock could have a chance with Gillian," she replied. They howled in laughter and Jim grinned, forcing down his disappointment at the soft glow in Nyota's eyes as she smiled at Scotty. It wouldn't be ending soon.


	30. Chapter 30 Risaguvaitlan

Spock woke to darkness and the smell of blood. Gillian was snuggled against him in their bed, the sheet round her waist exposing the shoulder which bore his teeth marks to the air. He reached out in the darkness and his fingers touched smooth flesh which twitched in response to his touch. He ran his fingertips over the marks, feeling a thrill run through him as he touched the torn flesh at her shoulder. Against all logic, he felt desire rise further in him as he did so. If there was ever to be a time when he should feel nothing when he touched her, this was it. Not after the previous day.

Meditation would allow him to master himself. He rolled to his back, letting Gillian's slender arm slip to her side and touched his fingers together, settling his breathing into the familiar rhythm and beginning the meditation he had performed every morning for most of his life. It was easier when a naked woman wasn't sleeping beside him suggesting a more pleasurable alternative. She lay where he had left her, limp and relaxed. He knew what he would see if the light was on. Small purple bruises the size and shape of his fingertips clustered near her hips and shoulders, imprints of where he'd gripped too tightly. His worry about how delicate and fragile she was, that he might damage her in his… enthusiasm, had been far away.

He had meant to reduce Gillian's anxiety, not increase it. Pon farr could be over in as little as two hours or as long as a week, but two days was the most common, with intercourse occurring fifteen to twenty times. He'd been through it before with T'Para, but the hormones which caused the madness also clouded his memory. Half remembered images and sensations were all he could recall. They had not even met before the wedding but she had been married before and knew what to expect. The first time was always the worst, especially if the bond hadn't been in place since childhood. Gillian had suggested they take a day to practice. He would stop if she asked him to, if it became too much for her. If not, the lack of fear when the time came would be an asset. Tensing up would not help things.

Her chest rose and fell in the rhythms of exhausted sleep and the movement of her breasts distracted him. It had been strange at first, so different to the norm. He'd had plans. He'd written a timetable, dividing the day into sections and intending to pace himself. She'd laughed, asked him if he thought that's how it would be. Tentative, he'd ignored her need and used her body for his own gratification. He had enjoyed it more than he thought he would. In normal circumstances, he drew pleasure from her reactions, her desire and completion fuelled his. Ignoring her reactions and thinking only of his pleasure had been arousing in a different way. She had twisted beneath him, her body supple and willing. She had begged and pleaded until her body reacted to the friction of his and granted her release from its desire. He ignored it, intent on pleasuring himself within her. He had used her body energetically from the time they'd woken that morning until they collapsed that night where they lay. She had set free something inside him which he kept bound well beneath the surface of his psyche. Something he hadn't known was there.

He had slept for his usual three hours. Now his body was urging him to wake her. He shouldn't need to after the day before but like all Vulcans he liked routine. He'd slept and now he wanted carnal knowledge of his sleeping wife before he let her grab a few more hours sleep before beginning her day. Despite Nyota's opinion, it was completely logical. Gillian was his wife, she belonged to him. Desire rose in him again at the thought, despite his attempt at meditation. It was worth asking at least, he would accept a no, even though it went against his instincts. He would be quick and gentle. He ran his long fingers down the curve of her waist and cupped the plump buttocks, pulling her against him.

"Lights. Twenty per cent." He bent his head forward and put his mouth against her shoulder, running his tongue over the indentations. He snuggled against her body, rubbing himself against her soft skin. She made a small noise, not quite a whimper which encouraged him to continue, sending his hands into familiar territory. "Spock," she mumbled. Gillian's eyes flickered open and she gazed around the room, sleepy and cuddly, beautiful and pliant. He wanted more than her relaxed compliance**. **

He rolled her onto her back, taking a visceral pleasure in the sight of the new bruises this revealed. It was unexpected, this pleasure he felt at the sight. He'd assumed it was leftover hormones the previous times, but it appeared to be something that was in him all the time. He dropped kisses over her exposed throat and chest, drawing her nipple into his mouth and rolling it until she moaned in response. He placed his hand on her hip and forced his desire through the bond until she shuddered in response.

He lifted her knee over his shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of her heel digging into his back. She looked at him through sultry heavy lidded eyes but didn't protest. It would be wrong for her to do so. It was his right. He surged forward onto her, pushing until he was inside. She gasped and her hands grabbed at him, urging him on, moaning encouragement.

He wanted her, needed her. He didn't know how he had lived before he had her. He arched over her, his breathing hot, ragged against her skin as he strained, insatiable. Her small hands drove long, burning gouges down his back, the cute nails failing to break the skin. He grasped at her delicate wrists, holding her captive, arms pinned over her head, stretching until she whimpered. Waves of pleasure raced through him as she made a small mewling sound. Spent, he collapsed to one side of her.

Their breathing slowed to normal in the dark cocoon of their bed. He let her desire cool, wondering if anger would replace it. "What did you think?" she asked, pushing his hair back and rubbing her fingers through it. She had expressed jealousy about the thickness of his hair, which was ridiculous. Hers was the most beautiful thing he had seen.

"About what?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "How did I do?" she asked, rendering him speechless. How did she do? How was he supposed to answer that? She was magnificent. He was the one who needed some sort of intervention to get himself under control.

She peered into his eyes and laughed at whatever she saw there, reaching forward to hug him. Against his will, he felt his body stir in reaction.

"I thought you would be satisfied for a day or two at least," she protested with a laugh.

"Indeed, I thought that too. It appears however that attempting to reduce physical desire by having sex is like drinking salt water to cure thirst. I apologise if I hurt you" She laughed and a light pink flush rose into her face. She whispered into his ear "Nothing the dermal regenerator won't fix. I'll don't know how I'll go with two days, though," and rolled to her side, dragging his stolen pillow with her and hugging it to her middle. He fished around on the floor for one of the others, there had to be four, even if one spent the entire night on the floor and tossed it under his head, listening as her breathing evened out into sleep. In lieu of his usual exercise he performed the calculations to determine the parameters for the day's experiments, lying beside her, his hand on her back, until it was time to wake her.

She showered and dressed in a shirt and sweatpants to go jogging. He suppressed the urge to stop her. He wanted her near him at all times. Who knew what could befall her out on her own. But he needed her gone, too.

He typed in the code to access her unopened communications. Gillian had given him the code to access her public address. It had taken him several hours to use it to decode her private transmissions and now he used it to open and read it all. Finding nothing suspicious, he logged out and opened some of the hundreds of messages that she had received. He sent the form message that Gillian had written in response to most. A few included digital photos that people thought might be of interest to Gillian. Her father, a keen amateur computer enthusiast had transferred all his photos to digital format, preserving most of them for posterity. He had seen enough of them, that he could recognise her relatives. He sorted through them, forwarding most to the photo display in the lounge room, deleting a few which showed her with her ex-fiancé. One, which showed Gillian and some friends, he sent to himself. He wouldn't delete it, because she might ask about it one day but it showed Gillian playing the guitar right handed and they were pretending he hadn't made a mistake. Some appeared to be strangers, the pictures would have been with or near images of the Taylors, or photo recognition software had shown a result over 30%. He sent them to a folder where Gillian could upload them to her PADD and sort through them at her leisure.

One file contained an embedded video/audio file which turned out to be a copy of an old fashioned television broadcast. The segment started 23 minutes into a documentary on medical advances.

The woman's torso appeared on the screen. She was old, her hair grey and lines marked her naked face but her blue eyes sparkled. The subtitle on the screen identified her as Dr Deirdre Taylor. "It happened at night, my grad student Brian was keeping watch and he saw it first. He rang me and I came right over, even though it was 2 a.m. There it was in the tube, a rat's heart, beating away. I had checked it before I left that night and it had been still but now it was twitching away, boom, boom, boom. It wasn't regular and it would skip beats every now and then. We stayed until morning, everyone arriving to share in the excitement. It got more regular during the night and by ten that morning it had beat with perfect rhythm for an hour. We had done it, grown a complete heart from cells taken from an adult animal." The view switched to show footage of the rats heart before returning to her.

She pulled a small cage from off screen. "Here he is, the world's first double hearted rat. He was his own organ donor." She fed the animal a small blob of something brown which the rat ate. "Since then we've done dog and monkey transplants and we have grown ten human hearts as well. We won't get transplant permission until they have stood the test of time, but here they are." The scene switched to a different area. Dr Taylor walked along a line of five glass tubes filled with non-beating disembodied human hearts and the accompanying medical paraphernalia for keeping them functioning. "Our oldest human transplant is four months and three days old. The AMA wants to see them last for ten years before they authorise widespread transplants, although some people on the donor list want that to be less. They won't be alive in ten years, so they're willing to take a chance."

"Can they be kept like this for long?" an off screen voice asked. She shook her head, "No, a few days before they degrade, they need the rest of the body to keep them functioning." A scene of the front of the American Medical Association appeared and the narrator turned the topic to the ethics of transplant donations.

Gillian would be delighted, Spock thought. Her cousin Deirdre, or Deedee, as Gillian illogically called her, had finished University after all. He saved the file to show her tomorrow, it was agreeable when Gillian was delighted.

Logging out, he dropped his PADD and searched through the drawers beside her bed. Under her PADD and communicator was a flat parcel, hand addressed to her via the Embassy. 'Private' and 'Confidential' slanted across the front in a masculine hand. It was open so he didn't need to be careful, some parcels could be tricky to open without leaving a mark. He slipped out the stiff card to see what she wanted to hide from him. He would never understand humans. They were strange. He pushed the envelope contents back into the envelope and rifled through the remaining letters. There was nothing else offensive, just Invitations to events which Gillian was interested in attending. None of them appealed to him, but he selected the least offensive and one which corresponded to a blank timeslot in his schedule. The second was a masquerade ball, which he considered even more illogical than ordinary socialising, but for a woman who considered ordering all her clothes online four times a year to be an elegant sufficiency, Gillian loved to dress up.

By the time Gillian returned, he had tidied up and activated the cleaning robot. He threw away a few styluses with chewed ends and replaced them with spares from his desk. Gillian had a regrettable tendency to use substandard things when he wanted to and could afford to buy her the best of everything. The blue pottery bowl containing an orchid was flashing indicating it needed care, so he watered it, suppressing a smile at the memory. He had brought it as an excuse to visit her in the early stages of dating, unsure if she was serious when she said he could drop by for a short visit if he had some spare time and wanted to see her naked. He had brought the rare blue Vulcan cactus flower the first time and an enthusiastic coupling had followed his nervous explanation that he only had an hour before his meeting with the Admiral Noruba but the time he brought the orchid had been quite memorable.

He let her shower by herself but joined her in the bedroom when she was dressed, running the brush through her hair until it hung in a pale gold silken curtain down her back. The mirror of her duchess showed the faint curve of her lips as she watched him. He handed her the brush and she pressed the side of the wood, revealing a secret compartment in which she placed the brush. She had always wanted one, she had confided to him one night after they had watched a very old movie she had seen as a child. He hadn't been able to get it made in time for her birthday but she had been thrilled at Christmas. She still used it too, which was more than could be said for most of the shower of gifts he had plied her with since he had told her they were bonded. She smiled and thanked him for each one but they lay neglected around the house while she wore the necklace her brother had given her, rotated through every outfit she owned in order, showing no preference and read electronic books on her PADD more often than not. Even most of the souvenirs she bought herself lay unsorted in a box in her cupboard, although she had mounted the Egyptian necklace on the wall. It was way too heavy to be flattering on her petite figure.

"You won't believe the letter I got the other day," she said after she swallowed the last bite of the scrambled eggs he'd cooked for her. He cocked an eyebrow at her in question. "I probably shouldn't tell you as it will just confirm your lowest opinion of humans. Someone sent me nude photographs of my mother. Judging by her age, Dad must have taken them. I have no idea why anyone would think that I would like to see them though." She gave a soft laugh and rose, kissing his forehead on her way to the dishwasher. She would have sent a hand written thank you note, though. Her mother had drilled manners into her well.

"Do you need me to help?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the under robe he wore and received a shallow nod in response. He needed to meditate, get himself back under control and rid himself of this melancholy and lack of control. Although he could block out the others, it was easier if he didn't have to. Jim and Leonard were still asleep, so this would be the best time. He pulled on the black outer robe and settled himself in front of the flame of the asenoi. He could both feel and hear her gathering her things and settling into the chair on the balcony overlooking the ocean. Peace slid into his mind as she settled into the relaxed mindful state she achieved with ease. He took several breaths and began the mental exercises he needed to bring himself to a calm and unemotional state of mind. Once settled, he examined his actions and reactions to them, filing and making sense of them.

It was more difficult, since he met Gillian. He loved her with almost a painful passion, an impossibly deep yearning and it was a constant source of concern for him. He was relying on her for his life and his happiness. He needed her to love him as much as he loved her. She had not asked to accompany him on board ship, nor suggested he stay with her, as he had expected. He had lived apart from T'Para with ease as there was little emotional connection between them but he found being apart from Gillian a source of strong discomfort. The closeness of Jim and Leonard was all that kept him from handing in his resignation to Starfleet. He shielded from everyone but Gillian didn't bother and he could feel her, content in her work and her learning even when he was far from her. She did not long for him the way her longed for her. Did not ache the way he did when parted from her. Her face had always been easy to read and she was pleased every time she saw him but content when he was not there. He feared the consequences of his love being so much stronger than hers was.

After an hour, he felt ready to face the rest of the day with equanimity. He changed into his uniform and strode to the lounge to find Gillian sprawled on her stomach on the floor with her dress pooling around her knees on the fluffy rug, PADD propped up in front of her. Her guitar leant against the couch which also held the loose spill of the abandoned knitting. Gillian had the day off and had plans to enjoy it."I am going to work," he told her, still not used to the enjoyment that came from knowing that there was someone to tell, someone who would care if he told her. She smiled at him, "Want me to walk with you?" He nodded again and watched her spring to her feet and race into the room he had just left. He kept his back turned, he didn't need to see her naked again but the knowledge that he could, if he wanted was enough to both comfort and discomfort him. She emerged wearing a fashionable pant suit and a plain hooded scarf, which she drew up over her head to cover her ears. She never wore anything unusual outside the house, hating to draw attention to herself. Piles of intricate lacy knit scarves languished in storage until she gifted them to people.

She slipped her arm through his as they walked to the door but let him go through it first. She had made her opinion of the 'Vulcan male walks three steps head to check for any danger' concept quite clear but used the opportunity to let her hand slip from the crook of his elbow. He would sometimes allow her public displays of affection but not here, at the Vulcan Embassy. She said she understood and had so far kept to her word, unlike Nyota who had become annoyed with what she had called his emotional constipation.

It was most agreeable to watch her face at the still wondrous, to her, sights of the twenty third century. They took the outside route from the Embassy to Starfleet Headquarters despite the cold, Gillian always preferred the outdoors. They entered through the main Atrium, which was a confusion of noise generated by sentient beings even with the sound baffles. "Ambassador Taylor," called a familiar voice and he watched a smile wash over her face as she altered her path away from him. Gillian was a Federation Ambassador who handled official contact between Cetaceans and also the beings that had sent the whale probe, the latter status involving recording and sending a message in the probes' wake. Presumably it would be several hundred years before the answer came.

Sulu, newly commissioned Captain of the 'Excelsior' stood in a small group of Vulcanoids. Commander Chekov stood behind him but the other members of the party were dressed in the military style tunics of Romulans, complete with superior sneers and smirks. There was no official greeting party, Spock noted, which would be an insult to the Romulans. Since the Romulan Star Empire had a very firm policy of never signing treaties and only came to San Francisco in hopes of successful espionage, it was probably not a matter of concern but some people had hope of, if not Reunification, at least the development of a ceasefire between the Federation and the Romulans.

Gillian snickered beside him, "So, do all Romulans feel so cheated in the shoulder department, or just the ones who come to Earth? And Qo'noS, I suppose." From the same genetic stock, Romulans shared the slender build of Vulcans, compared to the stockier Klingons and some races of humans. "We are approaching the limits of Vulcanoid hearing," he stated as they drew closer to the small group. He was on shore leave and had no duties but Gillian still had classes so he had arranged some independent study of some of the more interesting energy fluctuations the 'Enterprise' had recorded. Dr T'Mandlin from the Farragut had suggested some of the data she had obtained two years previously might be a related phenomenon and they had arranged to meet in the Physics Analysis Lab to investigate.

"Captain Sulu," began Gillian, pulling her hood back. Sulu smiled and drew Gillian forward and performed the introductions. The oldest man with a receding hairline but upright military bearing was Ambassador Nanclus and the two younger men he claimed were his aides Rai and H'daen were obvious bodyguards. H'daen was soft and young; an aristocrat's son who hadn't seen battle, but Rai had an alertness and aura of danger about him at odds with his youthful handsome face. "Ambassador Nanclus," Gillian began. "It's lovely to meet you. I've never met a Romulan before. Do Romulans shake hands? No. What's Romulus like? Is it a desert?" Nanclus sneered down as her but he found, as many people had, that it was hard to dislike Gillian when she was trying to be pleasant. He appeared to be making a good effort but his sneer lacked true venom in the face of Gillian's smile. "Romulan is a Federation term, we are Rihannsu and the planet is called ch'Rihan. It is a much more pleasant place than Vulcan, green, with many freshwater lakes." He took both her hands in his, clasping his in the top, dominant position and raised them with a small inclination of his head. An insult, treating Gillian as lesser than him, rather than a fellow ambassador but the inclination was small.

"That sounds lovely. Do you think the name has anything to do with the fact that rom-halan means good bye in Vulcan?" she asked, not at all put off. Gillian's had a lot of practice ignoring the sneers of people who disapproved of her. She knew the answer to the question. Spock had heard Nyota tell her during the Vulcan pronunciation lessons on his last shore leave. Being Miss Taylor, she called it. Polite, respectful, even in the face of rudeness and incompetence, saying admiring things to men and laughing if she thought they had made a joke. Gillian Taylor as raised by her mother.

"Possibly," Nanclus admitted. "Rihannsu translates as the declared ones. Do you study language?"

"No," Gillian treated him to a dazzling smile. "Even my Vulcan is very basic, the sounds are difficult. But I know someone who does. I'm sure Commander Uhura would be happy to converse with you about it." Commander Uhura would pay quite a lot of money to speak with a native speaker of Rihannsu but Spock watched as the Ambassador grudgingly agreed to come to a small gathering in three days' time.

By the time the pig nosed Tellarite representative arrived with a bleeding arm, having gotten into a fight on the way, Nanclus , Rai and H'daen seemed almost disappointed to be dragged away from explaining to Gillian about their childhood pets and swept off, promising to send pictures. Gillian, in return, promised to arrange for some whale watching tickets once they sent her a schedule. Sulu, following behind, held his hand up with his middle three fingers curled over and the thumb pointed towards his ear.

**Authors Note: Dr Deirdre Taylor is an actual person who grows rat hearts. I saw a documentary last year and added to it for this scene. It was a nice starting off point for how advanced medical science would be in three hundred years. Sorry about the delay, most of it went quickly but one chapter fought me to the bitter end and is no longer appearing in this story. Hopefully five chapters make up for it.**


	31. Chapter 31 Dearly Beloved

Cool air blasted over Gillian as she surveyed the scene before her with satisfaction. The wedding cake sat enthroned on a stand in the centre of the stasis room. Three layers of white iced cake covered with a basket weave pattern with colourful flowers spilling down the sides. Over fifty individual flowers cascaded over and near the cake. She reached forward and adjusted a single petal, then added an orange hibiscus from the tray in front of her. She circled the cake, inspecting it from all directions.

"What do you think?" she asked her audience. McCoy replied "It looks delicious, can I have a piece?" Scotty and Jim shot him glares. "I meant of the spares, of course." He indicated the tray Gillian still held and the lifelike icing flowers.

Gillian looked at the cake again. "Is it even?" she asked. "Or does it need something more on the top?"

"It's beautiful," said Jim. "I can't believe you made it by hand.

"I can cook," said Gillian. "My grandfather was a baker. I just prefer not to, except for special occasions. Anyway, Hikaru and I have to get some use from that cake decorating course we took."

"I could get married again," offered Jim, his eyes twinkling. Gillian rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not spending all this time on someone's tenth marriage. You'd have to mean it." She was stirring a little, Jim had been married more than a few times, but to get to ten you had to add in the time he'd been gifted three wives by the alien ruler.

Spock's entry to the room cut off Jim's reply. Gillian broke into a smile. "Spock, just the person I need. You have an eye for composition. What's wrong with the cake?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. It's gorgeous the way it is," grumbled McCoy.

Spock glanced at the cake as he stepped into the room, holding out his fingers for Gillian's. "You need to move some of the flowers from the top layer to the second layer." McCoy snorted, but Spock, with a quick glance at Gillian for permission, moved several of the flowers to new positions. Gillian dabbed icing to hold them in place, then stepped back to view the new arrangement. "Perfect," she said with delight. "No wonder you take such great pictures." In an aside to McCoy, she said "All my things look terrible when I take pictures. I get Spock to do them all now."

"Okay boys, you can have the leftovers." She handed the plate to Jim who snagged a red rose and tulip before allowing Scotty and McCoy to fight over the rest. Gillian handed the camera to Spock. "You grab some pictures, I've got to go get frocked up for the wedding.

She exited into hot dry air and sweat coated her instantly. She sighed, this never happened to Nyota. She suspected the other woman of having sold her soul to the devil for everlasting youth, beauty and poise. Whatever adventure the Enterprise went on, she always ended up looking like she just stepped out of a salon. Gillian couldn't even check on her cake without getting icing over her fingers. She went to put them in her mouth but gagged at the thought and brushed it off instead. She had tasted so much icing over the last three days, the smell of it made her ill.

She left the free standing stasis unit Nyota's sister had rented for the wedding and walked back to the house. It was a sprawling three story creation made from bricks made from the reddish local soil. At least it looked that way. If experience was any indication, it was plastic like everything else in the future, decorated to look more rustic. Still, it was nice for a change from the constant sameness of San Francisco, with its identical high rises containing identical apartments. A practical way of living with such a large population but it made Gillian's skin crawl. Here, there was the illusion of space, if not actual space. From where she stood, it looked like the Kenyan savannah stretched away in the distance behind her. A line of Flame Trees in front looked like it shielded more country from sight but Spock had told her it was an illusion, the line of trees marked the edge of the property and another similar sized house was on the other side. The block was large, three hectares, and indicated the high status enjoyed by Mahia from her position in the government. She hadn't dared to check how much original land remained after seeing the huge city built on the priceless ecosystem that had been the Mojave Desert. She was sure the answer would be depressing. There had to be some though. Herds of zebras and elephants still roamed in the National parks and Spock had promised to take her there tomorrow, once the festivities were over and done with.

She reached the house and entered, feeling the cool surround her with relief. She walked through the entrance hall to the room set aside for the bridal party. Nyota and Christine Chapel were there already, they had stayed overnight. The third bridesmaid, Nyota's childhood friend Shani would arrive soon. Nyota was arguing with her sister Mahia again. Gillian tried to sneak past, but Christine spotted her and said "Gillian, good, you're here." Everyone else fell silent and Gillian knew the subject of the argument. She threw Nyota an apologetic look.

"Tell Mahia about cat guy. She doesn't believe me." Christine urged, passing a glass of champagne from the tray. Gillian grinned and settled in for some storytelling. It would change the subject at least. The subject of her pathetic dating history was always good at parties.

"I went out with this guy a few times. He seemed nice." Nyota grinned and added. "That's never a good sign." Mahia gave her a puzzled look. "It's never a good sign when they seem nice?"

Nyota grinned. "No, it's never a good sign when Gillian agrees to go out with someone. It's a sure sign they're a weirdo." That cracked everyone up.

"Not true," said Gillian. "I've been on plenty of dates that were just boring. They're boring to tell though, too. It is true I am a weirdo magnet though. Seriously, Kirk and Spock were in San Francisco for like three hours before they found me, which is about typical. Anyway, whenever I went to his house he put out fresh food for his cat and told me all about her. It was so sweet. It's a good sign when a man is an animal lover. I put it in the plus column." She leant back in her chair. "So, we were running a bit ahead of time for our date this time so he says he wants me to meet Fluffy. I agree so he wanders from the living room to the kitchen calling out 'Fluffy, Fluffy, come and meet Gillian'. I'm following behind him and when he opens the freezer, I think he's going to get a treat for the cat, but instead he reaches in and pulls out this dead frozen cat. He strokes it and then coos in its ear "I want you to meet Gillian, Fluffy." This is the point at which I leave. Fast." They all cracked up again. Mahia gasped "Seriously, that actually happened?"

Gillian grinned. "It did. And the worst thing is…It only just crept onto my list of ten worst dates ever."

Mahia looked a bit sceptical. "What did the others do?" Christine answered for her. "No one tops the guy who whipped it out seconds into the date to prove it was nine inches long. That was just tacky and classless."

Nyota interrupted. "No. It's a tie between the guy who took her to an orgy and left her there and the guy who sang along to children's songs in the car and cried during the movie. I mean I'm all for men having a feminine side but who cries during a James Bond movie?

"Ladies, you're ruining my stories. I have dreadful luck with men, I admit it. At least I get a good laugh out of them later. And make all you married ladies feel lucky."

"Haven't you been with Spock forever?" Mahia asked as she poured more champagne for everyone. "Or is that not going well?" Gillian blinked in surprise. "Two and a half years, and we're fine. But that was an accident. I thought it was going to be a one night stand but he just wouldn't go home." The others must have started on the champagne early, as they laughed again. "He'll come to his senses one day."

Nyota stared at her. "He'll come to his senses? We're all worried you'll come to yours. Doesn't he drive you insane?"

"No," said Gillian, perplexed. "Why would he? He's kind, witty, intelligent and charming." This didn't seem like enough description. "I love him more and more all the time." Nyota looked pensive at this.

"Spock?" she asked. "Charming?" Gillian felt a smile work its way across her face. She couldn't help it when she thought about Spock. "Not like Jim, I admit. He doesn't have that surface charm. But he tries hard to make me happy and, I don't know, we just fit. We belong together somehow. I can't explain it." The others were waiting for more and Gillian couldn't help but elaborate. "He likes me, the real me." She leant back, having shared a little more than she had intended.

By early afternoon, they gathered in the function room. Nyota had gone for a more traditional wedding, mostly, Gillian thought to use the gifts everyone had given her. She wore a long mauve dress with a scooped neckline with the dark purple veil anchored in the dark hair piled atop her head. Scotty stood beside her, in his dress kilt, looking happy enough to burst. Tears of joy welled in Gillian's eyes as she watched the two of them pledge their life to one another. Christine, Mahia and Shani were dressed in simpler versions of the wedding dress in orange, pink and yellow.

Later, there was singing by the bride and dancing too. Gillian's grabbed Scotty's brother, the Best Man from Mahia and was pleased to see Spock invite Peter's mother Nicole Preston onto the floor. Not surprised since she'd told him to, of course. After getting back from the trip to Edinburgh she'd taken to persuade Nicole to come. Nicole still held a grudge against Scotty over her son's death. It was a simple enough matter for Scotty to cut in on them at the end of the first waltz before she knew what was happening. They danced less than half a song before Scotty passed her over to Shani's original partner, but it was long enough for Scotty to thank her for coming. She didn't dance again after the first set but she stayed until the cake cutting.

After the formalities were over, the party began in earnest. Many of the guests were Starfleet personnel but Mahia had invited her friends as well. In between dances, Gillian people watched from a private corner behind a potted plant. Jim looked a little down but Gillian refused to feel sorry for him. Nyota had told her they hooked up at Starfleet Academy and a few times since between missions. He had well and truly had his chance, but blew it. He tried to console himself with Mahia but she cut him down and wasn't kind as she did so. Gillian saw her later with her most recent term husband, sucking his face with enthusiasm.

Awareness tingled in Gillian and she turned to see Jim sit beside her. His face was flushed he smiled his satisfied smirk. Mahia had turned him down but he must have found someone who didn't. She hoped the woman had enjoyed herself, Gillian didn't think Jim would remember her name come morning. He passed his arm around her and laid his head to rest on her shoulders. It was soothing, which was odd since she knew Jim intended it to be at least a little sexual. He had ceased to make passes at her once he had realised she was with Spock, but it still wounded his pride that she wouldn't date him. Not that she found him unattractive, confidence was always a turn on in a man and he was sorta cute, but he was not her type and not the type for a serious relationship no matter how much he told himself he was.

"I lost my chance with a beautiful woman tonight," he slurred into her ear. "I always thought we... you know. And now she's gone. Scotty won't let her go. He's not stupid. Not even a term marriage to try it out first." Gillian smiled and patted him on the knee. She had seen part of his list of conquests and knew the truth. Totally unsuitable woman, there was Jim Kirk, throwing his heart at her. Anyone really in love with him, he couldn't get away fast enough. "No, he's not," she said instead. "So now it's time for her happily ever after. We, her friends should be glad for her. Besides, I'm sure she'll always be your work wife." Although to a lesser extent, she thought. Jim wasn't the only one with commitment issues. Nyota had caught herself between Jim and Scotty for years, all her work hours with Jim, social events with Scotty and the odd boyfriend. Sybok had given her a good look at her own actions and broken apart the status quo. She'd made the right choice in Gillian's opinion. Jim was a great friend, she was sure he'd be a nightmare husband. Certainly, he'd been a complete failure as a father.

He was miserable though, she could feel it. Now their bond was firmly established, she received overflow from Jim too. Not a problem for Vulcans since they had the mental discipline to deal with it. Gillian just let the emotion flow around her and fade away. She wasn't miserable; she was having a great time. She dropped a soft kiss on his head out of compassion, realised he was taking the opportunity to look down the top of her dress and dug her fingertips into his ribcage. He flung his head up and righted himself, then grinned, unashamed.

"Hi Spock, had enough human festive rituals, yet?" he asked, as Spock appeared beside the long stemmed potted plant.

"Yes," said Spock in his beautiful deep voice. "However, since I am informed the festivities will continue for several more hours, I came to ask Gillian to dance." She still got the same thrill down her spine as she did the first time he had spoken to her at the Cetacean Institute. She reached out her fingers to him and felt his presence in the back of her head intensify. She could feel his desire for her crackle and was surprised, as usual, that no one could feel it. Not even Jim, if his lack of reaction was any judge. "Of course," she replied. "I'd love to dance." She did. She danced often, solo and with a partner. Spock didn't like the latter but he tolerated the lessons she took with Hikaru while he was off planet. He was always jealous when he got back, although he denied it, jealousy being an emotion. Parting from her was disagreeable, that was all. A little more disagreeable when he knew she wasn't home waiting for him. He knew better than to ask her to stop though.

The frilly hem of her dress swirled around her ankles as she stepped into the circle of his arms, her rightful place in the universe. He swung her into a waltz and she thought she mightn't wait until the small hours of the morning to retire. Being with your beloved was a good way to celebrate the beginning of a marriage.

Mahia's question had reminded Gillian that the second anniversary of her relationship with Spock had come and gone. He had spent half of that in space, but she'd had long distance relationships before and none had lasted this long. One, she'd terminated herself in a move that made the older Gillian wonder what had possessed her younger self to think she could do better. The others, though had all ended when the man in question had tired of her, moving onto someone better. Or when she found out he'd moved on.

"Maybe it's time to discuss children," she said and felt him stiffen beneath her fingers. "In theory," she hastened to explain. "I was thinking a computer modelling simulation that scanned the gamete and postulated the viability of the resulting embryo before conception instead of trying to correct incompatibilities inherent from random fertilisation." Spock had been explaining the theory of computers to her. The mathematics bored her but the concepts had sparked her interest.

"I could write it but it could take years before a suitable match was detected," he said. His tone was cautious but the muscles in his arms relaxed.

"Well, we know what genes are going to be causing the problem. If we sample the genes at the critical points, and discard unsuitable DNA strands as soon as there is a critical level of incompatibility we could speed it up. It would take years, so if we start now, we might have success by the time we're ready." Her earlier blithe words to T'Pau had simplified the problems. Extreme anti-eugenic sentiment had resulted in laws which limited the scope of genetic engineering to correction of defects in existing embryos. Forbidden from the more logical pre-conception manipulation, Sarek and Amanda's geneticists had started with a natural conception and made changes toward viability, resulting in multiple miscarriages and damage to Amanda's immune system which had prevented a second child. She shouldn't complain, it had given her Spock, but it was second rate science. Adjustments made using gene therapy instead of genetic manipulation meant that the corrections didn't carry onto the next generation. A human baby containing genetic material from Amanda and herself with perhaps a small amount to make it a boy had been her fall-back position and one which she knew wouldn't make T'Pau happy but would be the easiest to manipulate and carry.

Spock's hand rubbed over her shoulder long elegant fingers and she felt arousal trickle through her. It always did when he touched her there and she knew he was reliving their practice session, all of the pleasure and none of the guilt. They were a funny damaged pair, untrusting of each other, afraid to relax and enjoy the relationship. Neither of them had a particularly stunning romantic history and they were a bit gun shy. Waiting for the other to call it quits first. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and cuddle in but knew he didn't like public displays of affection, they were unVulcan. He would make it up to her later, in private.


	32. Chapter 32 You Could Call It A Fight

Waves of fury rolled off Gillian. Spock wondered what the cause was. Usually she was some variation of happy due to her easy-going nature and Spock's tireless efforts to supply her with any item he thought she desired. He would have to find out the cause of her anger and remove it from her life.

The strains of Eric Clapton's guitar quietened to silence with his entrance to the apartment they had shared for the past three years. He cast a glance around the room. The polished wood furnishings, the ceiling to floor green curtains which framed the large wall of windows overlooking the Bay, the live feed of the whale pod on the right wall, the Kookaburra painting they had bought in Australia, everything looked normal. The dining room/kitchen was empty of her presence so he headed to the bedroom.

He entered the red lined room which held most of his personal possessions. Better than their attempts to combine the furnishings in one room. That had resembled a tragic Christmas collision, to quote Nyota.

Gillian pushed back her chair and stood as he entered the room, waving the PADD in his direction and scowling at him. "Well?" she asked, "Do you have an explanation for this?"

"An explanation for what?" he asked, puzzled. Gillian was normally quite logical in her conversation now she had stopped using out dated colloquialisms.

"You've been snooping in my PADD. Or are you going to deny it?" He couldn't, because it was true. She had been writing a lot, typing not dictating and often stopping when he came home. Initially, he had been pleased to have her undivided attention, but later his suspicions had been aroused. He had run a program to allow him access despite her password and read all the content he could find. His searching had revealed nothing suspicious. She shouldn't have been able to determine what he had done with her basic level of computer programming.

"If you had nothing you needed to keep from me, why did you add a password to the PADD?" he countered, looming over her. He kept his voice to its normal, smooth level, revealing nothing.

"Oh, no you don't. This is about what you did wrong. You snooped." She pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Yes, I did," he said. "You are my bond mate. It is important for me to know what concerns you. I thought you might have written down something I should know."

"So you violate my privacy, because you're nosy and entitled." Her voice rose throughout the sentence.

"You are mine. I am entitled to know if you are interested in another."

Gillian gave him a disbelieving stare. "You're accusing me of cheating on you?" she said. "Or is this how you justify being caught snooping. Try to put the blame on me?" She crossed her arms across her chest.

The lack of evidence on the PADD had reassured him but her lack of denial of his accusations made him suspicious. "You do not deny the accusation. And there is other evidence for my suspicions"

"I do deny it. And I find the accusation offensive. What other evidence?" She clenched her fists.

He hesitated. She had denied it that should be the end of it.

"What. Other. Evidence?" she insisted, eyes glaring at him.

"You let him touch you," he said, voice lowered as the words slipped out.

That sent her eyebrows up in astonishment. "Him? Who?"

"Jim Kirk." The word hung in the air. Spock breathed out slowly. He had made the accusation at last. It had begun as a thought, but it had grown stronger over time. Each time Jim touched Gillian, every time he made her laugh at some human joke which Spock did not understand. He had come, piece by piece to the conclusion that he had erred. He had stepped in at the early stages of their courtship and stolen Gillian from Jim. Jim would be a much better husband for her. He was human, as she was. He could give her human children, which would help Jim cope with the death of David. Gillian had taken courses in Human/Vulcan hybridisation but her early experiments had been unpromising and she had used half her harvested ova without a potential success. Or so she had said. He remembered the entry in her inventory For Human Use Only.

"What?" said Gillian disbelieving.

"I will not give you up," he said. "He may be a better match for you, but I will do everything I can to see to your contentment." He would lose Jim as well. He would not stand by and watch them together.

"I'm sorry. I just need to get this straight. You're accusing me of having an affair with your best friend, Captain James Kirk?"

"Not an affair. I had my suspicions, but found no evidence. I believe you to have remained faithful," he assured her.

A red flush travelled up Gillian's face. The rush of emotions along the bond confirmed it was anger, not embarrassment. He had a moment's notice and ducked as the PADD flew towards him. It hit the wall behind him and smashed.

"Get out," screamed Gillian. "Get out and don't come back until you are prepared to take back that filthy accusation. I don't know what's worse, your snooping or your pathetic attempt to excuse your own actions."

Something in him resented being thrown out of his own house but Gillian cast around for something else to throw and her eyes landed on the glass decanter on the shelf, and he decided discretion was the better part of valour and left.

"Why were you wandering around the Embassy like a lost puppy?" asked Amanda in that irreverent way of hers. Would she ever cease treating him like a child?

"That is an inaccurate description of events," he studied the words on the carving in front of him, avoiding looking directly at his mother who sat on the couch sipping from a fine carved stone tea cup. They were in the cosy meeting room of the apartment his parents stayed in when they were at the Embassy on Earth. He had returned to the ship the night before after his argument with Gillian and worked on his experiments without seeing anyone who would ask impertinent questions. Jim had joined him after Alpha shift with an invitation to a chess game and afterwards accompanied him to the shuttle bay, not suspecting anything amiss. Spock hadn't wanted to broadcast his personal problems, so he had taken the ride to Embassy then let Jim take the cable car into town. Checking the lab schedule told him he couldn't book any more time. His mother had accosted him near the public communication booths while he was still deciding whether to call Gillian or just go home and talk to her. He had accepted her invitation to dinner without realising how it would look that Gillian wasn't with him. Dinner had been silent; Sarek had his wife trained in traditional Vulcan etiquette. Spock couldn't bring himself to deny Gillian anything. Not that she often spoke during meals, but that was her choice, not because she was obeying him.

"What is Gillian doing?" she asked.

"I assume that she is at home," he replied, wondering if he could influence her to change the topic of conversation before Sarek returned from his office, where he'd retreated after the meal to give them some privacy. Not that he believed she wouldn't summarise events for his father later on if she felt so inclined. His mother gave him a knowing look. "You had a fight, huh."

Torn between his desire for privacy and the knowledge that she was the one person who might tell him the correct course of action and buffeted by the need to be truthful, he admitted "There was a difference of opinion expressed."

"About what?" she asked in a casual tone of voice

"I had been looking for some information and accessed her computer files. She corresponds with other scientists and has access to unpublished articles. She objected to the fact that I accessed her PADD without her permission." Not one statement was a lie but his prevarication didn't fool his mother.

"What information was so valuable to you that you had to have it so urgently you couldn't spare a minute for a comm call? And you a Vulcan with all those privacy taboos you all worry about so much." she asked, her mouth curved slightly and her eyes twinkling. He didn't answer and she smiled, placing the cup on the side table and standing. He turned to face her directly and she reached up to brush his hair into position. Her hand was frail and wrinkled. When he was a child, she had not seemed more aged than the mothers of his contemporaries had but now the truth was becoming more obvious every time he saw her. A sudden flash of hatred for his father rushed through him and he suppressed it. Living on Vulcan had aged her faster than living on Earth would have. Could he not have moved to Earth once Spock had left for Starfleet at least? Or had it been his birth and the accompanying damage to her immune system that had done this?

"You were jealous," she suggested "Don't look so surprised, I've been married to your father all these years. He still won't speak to my gynaecologist just because he's a man." Spock had kept his face still and emotionless and the parental bond between him and his mother, restored at the fal-tor-pan at her request, was a thin thread due to his age and his marital bond. How could she still pick his emotions that well? "You were looking for proof of your suspicions. Did you find any?" He moved his head from side to side a fraction. "Did you express your suspicions or was the argument over your snooping?"

"She asked me for an explanation," he admitted, clasping his hands behind his back. One day he would learn to keep a secret from his mother.

"So, baby, let me get this straight. You snooped through her personal things, accused her of wanting to cheat on you, and then you were surprised when she threw you out?" Amanda's voice was amused, which struck Spock as inappropriate considering the information she had accurately extracted from him.

"I was not surprised. It was an inappropriate action given the circumstances. It was illogical."

"Baby, it was very logical. I'd have been sad if she had killed you for being an overbearing jerk, sorry, I mean illogical." A smile played around the corner of her mouth as she smoothed her hands over imaginary creases in the Starfleet uniform.

"My behaviour is not illogical. It is important to be sure of your bond mate. If she has a desire to seek another, I must persuade her to change her mind." He forced the explanation out, forced his tone of voice to remain neutral. To make such an admission, that his bond mate sought another was a source of great shame, even more so since the kal-if-ee with T'Pring.

Amanda sighed. "Yes dear, which is why it is illogical to undertake the actions most designed to annoy her. You didn't think she'd get angry over what you said?"

Spock remained silent. His mother had a point. He had made a serious accusation. If it was unfounded, it would be logical for Gillian to be annoyed with him. His mood lifted at the thought but plunged as he realised he had introduced rancour to his house for no reason. He had never argued with Gillian before, he was unsure what action to take. He argued with McCoy all the time, but they just came to work as usual and acted as though it had never happened. Would Gillian take him back? Should he just go home and pretend everything was normal or would she hurl something else at him?

His father entered the room and offered the PADD he was holding to Spock. Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "I have loaded it with the same programs that were on her previous PADD." At Spock's inquiring look, he elaborated. "Gillian asked me to put a security program on her PADD fourteen days ago. I noticed what programs were there at the time and backed up her system on the Embassy Mainframe. I have restored it to that condition." The two Vulcans stared at one another without speaking. Spock extended his hand and took the PADD. Sarek had come between Spock and his bond mate, which was a serious breach of etiquette but if he had not known who Gillian was protecting her privacy from, Spock could not chide him.

"Good," announced Amanda. "Now Spock can take the PADD and an apology back to Gillian and all will be well." The two men looked at her. They did not share her confidence. For a Vulcan wife to take the actions Gillian had would be prelude to a divorce by combat at the next opportunity. Marriage was a serious matter for Vulcans.

"Go." Amanda made shooing motions with her hands." It's not that I don't love it when you visit, dear. But this is important."

Spock entered the apartment to complete darkness and silence although the hour was still early. He ran his hand over the control pad to turn the light on. The air was cool and the gravity set to Earth normal, which was unusual. It was set to Vulcan levels when Gillian was asleep. Vulcans needed less sleep than humans did and Spock would often exercise while Gillian slept. Using the higher gravity made his workout more efficient. Gillian was a deep sleeper and it did not disturb her. Spock took the gravity level as an insult. He hoped it was not an indication she thought he would no longer be living here.

He could sense wakefulness from her and headed to the kitchen. Keeping his mother's admonitions in mind, he ordered a creamy hot chocolate from the food processor. A small one since the history indicated she had ordered two already. It was, in his opinion, a concoction of limited nutritional value but Gillian loved them. He raised the lights to 10% and walked to the bedroom. Gillian was a curled up lump under the bedclothes. She did not acknowledge his presence in any way. He placed the drink on her bedside table "Gillian, I brought you a drink. I acknowledge my actions were unwarranted. I will not 'snoop' through your PADD again."

He circled the room, heading towards his closet to fetch his meditation robe, the one she had embroidered for him by hand. It hadn't been a complete disaster. He would meditate for an hour and enter the bed after Gillian was asleep. She hadn't thrown him out again. As his hand reached for the door, he heard her muffled voice. "My back's sore." His heart leapt but he remained calm and slipped under the smooth cotton sheets, and began stroking the sides of her back. He took a slow deep breath. Their argument had meant he had not been intimate with her last night or this morning. Now he was close to her, he could feel his blood burning. Filling his lungs with the scent of her didn't help. He adjusted his bio controls to cope. He didn't think she would be interested tonight, but perhaps in the morning?

He slid his hands to her shoulders and rubbed to release the tension he could feel there. "I had a crappy night's sleep last night, thanks to you, "she complained. "I had a sick feeling in my stomach and no sex so it was hard to get to sleep. You made me yell like I was my mother."

Spock's tension lessened. "Indeed," he said and slowed the actions of his hands. "My night was not restful either."

Gillian sniffed and let of the sheet she had been clutching. "I accept your peace offering" She reached forward and twisted towards the drink, letting the sheet slide down to her waist. This exposed the line of her bare back to Spock, the muscles thrown into sharp delineation by her posture. The soft light made her skin and hair look silver against the shadows of the rest of the room.

"Indeed." Spock used his fingertip to move her hair to the side and placed a kiss at the top vertebrae. "I shall start without you, then." Stroking with both hands, he kissed and touched his way down her spine. At his fifth kiss, she shivered and her anger slipped away from her. "We're not finished with this argument," said Gillian. Spock ignored her and pressed against her back.

Afterwards, they lay entwined in the dark, breathing still elevated. Gillian stirred from her post-coital state of relaxation. He suppressed the urge to tense. The discussion would be calmer now, he thought. He had overreacted the previous night. It had been an argument; human couples had them all the time, not the end of their marriage. The words she spoke were not the ones he expected.

"I don't think you're going to get another four years until pon farr." He examined his actions and concluded it was a possibility. His emotional state could lead one to that deduction. "Your mother said symptoms can start showing up a few weeks beforehand, in both partners. Your father once threw a pen across the room. It makes sense with the pheromones, too."

"Pheromones?" he asked.

"I let my injection expire. I'm running low on ova to work on." She looked at him expectantly, then hinted. "Craving chocolate, my back hurts, moody as hell? Haven't you heard of PMS before?"

"I have read of Pre-menstrual syndrome." Most women who weren't pregnant or trying to conceive suppressed their hormonal cycles, so he had no literal experience with it, to his knowledge.

"I think you're more acquainted with it than that." she said with a slight twist of her mouth. "It makes sense that pon farr would coincide with ovulation. The literature I've read says pon farr causes ovulation in the female partner, but it makes just as much sense it could work the other way, too. I mean, I don't think it's made it four years early but maybe a couple of weeks or months." He nodded against her hair, it was a logical argument. "Hormones do have an observable effect, pregnancy will suppress pon farr in a bonded couple and an unmated man deep in the blood fever will ignore a pregnant woman or a girl below maturity even if it means his death."

He was concerned for her. He had never gone through his Time with a human woman, although Zarabeth's race had few differences he had noted. His mother survived, of course, but she always saw a doctor afterwards and he didn't know if that was overreaction on Sarek's part or she suffered injury in the process. He consoled himself with the fact Gillian had had her Fallopian Tubes surgically blocked so there would be no unsuccessful pregnancy. "I will see the Embassy doctor tomorrow." He stroked her arm, feeling the soft hairs stand erect.

Gillian giggled. Spock raised an eyebrow at her. "Okay, you were acting under the influence of hormones but really? Jim Kirk? Whatever would lead you to that conclusion?"

He was uncomfortable with the topic but managed a stiff, "Many women think him attractive, including some in whom I was interested."

"Like who?" said Gillian, distracted from her original topic.

"Whom," he corrected. "Rayna Kapec, before I knew she was an android. Edith Keeler." He didn't mention Nyota, Gillian was jealous enough of her.

"Ah," said Gillian, nodding her head.

"What do you mean by Ah?"

"I wondered if you liked Edith. I thought you might." Having convinced Gillian to abandon the topic which he found disagreeable, Spock found himself interested in discussing it. "Are you trying to allege you do not find him attractive?"

Gillian hesitated. "He's your best friend, Spock. I don't like to say anything negative."

"I am not an emotional human, Gillian. You may tell me the truth." He braced himself, in case she said she did.

"Jim has many wonderful qualities, loyalty, determination, and bravery. But on the other hand, he's like a big kid." Spock cocked his eyebrow at her. "Well, like a teenager anyway. Trapped in that part of life where he wants all the perks of being an adult but none of the responsibilities.

"Being the Captain of a star ship is a lot of responsibility."

"Not counting those parts you take care of," countered Gillian. "He just wants the good bits, where he can make decisions with no oversight. I mean, for crying out loud, Carol gave him an ultimatum, get a job where she saw him more than once a month or divorce her and never see his son again. He could have accepted a job as Captain of a Science vessel but that wasn't as good as the Enterprise. He put his own desire for adventure above his son's need for a father."

Spock had no answer. He had considered it to be an aberrant decision of Jim's part once he knew of David's existence. Gillian must consider it a major character flaw.

"He can't commit to anything but himself. All his relationships fall apart. Janice Lester was crazy as a loon but I'd put money on her version of events. Jim left her when it started getting serious. He always does. Or chooses women where it can never get serious in the first place. He can't even choose a best friend. He's got you convinced Bones is his best friend but Bones convinced it's you. He has serious immaturity and commitment issues." He realised Gillian was correct. Hearing Jim's faults enumerated was a disagreeable sensation, ameliorated by the easing of his suspicions about the two of them.

"What were you writing, on your PADD, that you did not want me to see?" he asked. "Since it wasn't about Jim." So she was alleging. She remained silent so long he began to worry. "I'm writing a book," was her reluctant reply. Why would she desire to keep an innocuous secret from him? "Is it about us?" he asked. He disliked the idea. The holos of the Enterprise's adventures was a big enough invasion of his privacy. "No," she replied, puzzled. "It's fiction. 'I've been writing a lot for my blog and lots of people said they liked it, so I thought I might try a novel."

"You think I'm illogical, don't you?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"No," he said. "Literature is a form of art traditionally practiced by humans. "

"What if you don't like it?" she asked in a small voice.

"I am sure anything you wrote will be of an acceptable to excellent quality," he assured her. She curled into him. "It's fantasy," she said. "Not likely to be your thing." True, but he would read it anyway because it was a part of her.

His hand slipped onto her breast, abandoning the conversation. He wasn't squeamish but Gillian might be.


	33. Chapter 33 Nexus

Decker swung the hammer against the locking mechanism, wincing at the noise. Metal clanged on metal and then he could hear the screech as the damaged lock tore itself apart from the weight of the water. The trickle became a flood and the gate flung back under the weight of the waterfall. It hung for a minute in mid-air until the weight of the water damaged the other side and it slid with a huge clang down the rocky cliff.

He turned to his companion, who stood relaxed at his side. "Won't they hear and come looking?" he asked. "No," Dr Taylor said. "The water level alarm will go off in five minutes but we'll be long gone." She pointed to a light in a distant building. "We didn't trigger the entry alarm so if they hear, they won't think anything of it."

"Last chance," he said but wasn't surprised when she smiled and shook her head at him, shifting the heavy bag on her shoulder. He flipped open the communicator and spoke to the transporter technician. The transporter beam captured them and deposited them onto the ship again. He strode to the bridge, Dr Taylor trailing behind him, gazing with wide eyed excitement. She had spent her last visit inspecting the tanks which held the whales and checking on George and Gracie. As they entered, his Andorian First Officer stood and offered Dr Taylor his seat and she gave him a gracious smile in return. Admiral Spock would have his rank for disobeying his direct orders but it would be worth it to save the Earth. He could stick his logic. Even a chance at saving the Earth was worth endangering the ship and its crew. What point saving the fleet if there were no humans to guard?

He settled into the Captain's Chair. "Set course for the Pacific Ocean," he ordered and felt the hum of the impulse engines. The makeshift tank would hold a further eight adult whales which would help the breeding program along. He had wanted to get all females but Dr Taylor had overruled him, saying half male and female would be better for the whale society.

"Thelin, how are those calculations going?" he asked his Andorian First Officer. "They are done, Captain, for a departure time of 2100 tomorrow from solar orbit." Decker had suspected they were once he relinquished his seat. He noticed Dr Taylor's concerned frown and explained. "We cannot arrive back earlier than we left, but we wish to waste as little time as possible." Her face cleared. "So you'll leave from the Pirellus star and arrive in orbit around Earth's sun one second later. That's so cool." It was really. His first impulse had been to speed for Earth but once his Communications officer Commander Rand had discovered the source of the call was Humpback whales, they had slingshot around the nearest star and travelled from Pirellus to Earth in the past. Earth had sustained damage, over a million deaths in the two days since the probe damaged the energy net, but it was not beyond saving. It was more than worth his career.

Sybok plotted. The Enterprise had been three days from Earth when the probe arrived. It needed to be closer, but not at the Earth where it would be disabled by the probe like the Excelsior. How to force it closer to avoid disaster? The other timelines swirling around him caught his attention; did one of them hold the answer? His vision of them wasn't clear from here, he would have to immerse himself into one of them to find out, and he feared doing that, though it held no fears for the other entity. He held that back as a last resort though, if nothing else worked. A human perspective would be good, he thought, remembering the spectacular career of Spock's friend, Captain Kirk. He could find solutions that would never occur to a Vulcan in the same situation. It was unfortunate he had merged with the V'ger entity and ceased to exist on that plane of existence. Perhaps he could influence someone else to take his place? Doctor McCoy perhaps, he retired again soon after the V'ger incident so there would be no damage to the time line from his death. Dismay poured though him, he hadn't known that before, when Spock had died in the original timeline, he had paid little attention to Starfleet matters. What was happening to his memory? What was happening to him? Was he changed that much?

As he watched the time line, he could see Decker's pain over his fascination with the woman Ilia, his regret over their unsuccessful relationship which lasted for years and a different solution presented itself. A psychic nudge to V'ger and it scanned the navigator instead of its original logical choice of the Communications Officer Uhura. He didn't have to push Decker at all to get the man to make the sacrifice.

Once the sickening waves of disorientation subsided, he checked the resultant timeline.

"Scotty, I need warp speed in four minutes or we're all dead." Spock spun in his chair. Was it possible for the Engineer to make the repairs?

"No response, Admiral." There was no other choice apart from death of the ship and crew.

Spock rose from his chair on the Bridge and strode toward the turbo lift. He had erred, had let the humans influence him until he let emotion rule logic. Starfleet had regulations for a reason. He cringed at the memory of his own voice saying. "Lieutenant. The Admiral is well aware of the regulations." His words had condemned three cadets including Mr Scott's nephew Peter Preston to their premature deaths and ten others to severe injury. Cadets he should have saved from their own stupidity had died because of his failure. Jim Kirk owned some of the blame but he relied on Spock to point out his errors, to apply stringent logical analysis to the situation and Spock had failed to do so. Now, at least, he could atone for his error, save the remainder of the crew. It was the logical thing to do. His life was forfeit if the ship exploded, he could at least save everyone else his arrogance and stupidity had risked. And he wouldn't have to face his father afterwards and see the disappointment that Sarek would be careful not to show. Or face every other Vulcan he would meet for the rest of his life, knowing they knew of his failure of logic.

"Are you out of your Vulcan mind? No human can tolerate the radiation that's in there." Spock was running through the steps he would have to take for the repairs as he crossed the engine room where McCoy intercepted him. He estimated it would take two minutes and thirteen seconds to affect the repairs, even with the physical degradation that would occur as the radiation affected him. He could spare a few seconds to reassure McCoy.

"As you are so fond of observing, Doctor, I am not human." Spock moved to walk past but McCoy put his hand on his shoulder blocking him. "You're not going in there."

It would take too long to argue. "Perhaps you are right," he said, looking away from his goal. His gaze landed on the wounded engineer, a suitable distraction for the doctor. "What is Mr Scott's condition?"

McCoy turned to look "Well, I don't think that he…" and Spock administered a mild nerve pinch, manipulating the doctor's lax body to the ground. "I'm sorry doctor. I have no time to discuss this logically." Grabbing the radiation proof gloves from Mr Scott's hands, a sudden impulse to fight against non-existence make him spend 3.2 seconds securing his katra. It was within the bounds of their relationship, he was not a stranger whose permission was necessary and it would not be the lengthier process of attachment. He still had two minutes and thirty seconds.

"Remember."

The door revolved, depositing him in the chamber. The burning pain from the radiation and the shielding obscured his senses but he could hear Mr Scott's faint yells of "Spock. Get out of there." Humans were so illogical. Did they want to die with him? He blocked out the caustic fear that Kirk was exuding. He struggled to lift the lid of the casing. It would have taken three or four humans even if they could survive the radiation for sufficient time. He flicked his inner eyelids down and stared at the damage before the radiation blinded him. He made the repairs from memory, and wasted a few second of his safety margin double checking the couplings. The warp reactor came online once he replaced and secured the lid, with seven seconds to spare.

He could admit, in the privacy of his own head, at the hour of his death that he wanted to find out how it all turned out. He was not certain of what came after death. His katra would survive if the ship did but it was not him, it was his memories. It could no longer think or learn or experience trapped in a katric ark. He sank to the floor and felt the lurch in his stomach as the ship ran from the explosion. Kirk's exultation was clear and he found the situation most agreeable. His friends would live. Joy turned to horror and he knew Kirk was on his way. It would be agreeable to see Jim again once more although the experience would be maudlin. He'd like to finish their last chess game, he thought he had Jim's strategy worked out but he could never be sure until the game played out. In any case, it was unimportant and Jim would need emotional comfort in these last moments. McCoy banged on the glass but Spock ignored him, he did not wish to be yelled at for being logical. McCoy didn't like him that much anyway, putting up with him because he was friends with Jim. Although he did think the doctor enjoyed their verbal battles. He always seemed eager to join in.

He heard McCoy shout "No, Jim, you'll flood the whole compartment." It was unusual for McCoy to be the less emotional of the two.

"He'll die," said Jim.

"He's dead already," objected Scotty, confirming Spock's opinion that he was the smartest person on the ship after himself.

Nyota had not come, even though there would be no urgent communications. The thinnest thread still bound them after all these years. He suppressed it, made sure not to touch it, he was married to another and it was illogical but it had not broken. She was sad, but not devastated as he would have been by her death. T'Para could feel him dying and was retreating from his mind, she would not try to follow him into death. Not that he thought she would, they weren't that close and she had her children to think of. His mother, Jim and Saavik were the ones who would truly mourn him. Not a great number, but more than he would have expected in his younger years.

"Spock," yelled Jim and he dragged himself to a standing position, pain from the burning of his skin suppressed as far as possible. He walked across the chamber and pain slashed through his blistered face, more than he'd thought possible. He'd misjudged the distance, and bumped into the clear shielding. His faculties were failing him. It wouldn't be long now until his pain was gone.

"Jim," his voice was raspy, his vocal cords burned and swollen. "Out of danger?" That was the most important thing, remember it.

"Yes."

"Do not grieve, Admiral. It is logical." He struggled to articulate. "The needs of the many outweigh…"

"…the needs of the few," Kirk finished. He did know. Now he just had to believe it. Spock nodded.

"Or the one." Had he nodded to agree with Jim yet? He tried to collect his thoughts, reaching forward with his hands to balance. His left hand didn't respond to his commands, dangling useless at his side and he ended up leaning on the right one.

"I never took the Kobayashi Maru test until now. What do you think of my solution?" He was wobbling, his legs would no longer support him as the radiation continued to damage his muscles. What else did he need to say? There wasn't much time left.

"I have been and always will be…your friend." With effort, he drew his hand from the glove and formed the ta'al. "Live long and prosper." He was dizzy and going to fall. Or was it his legs that failed him? He twisted, somehow gaining a seated position. He was so tired and in so much pain. The disciplines were no longer sufficient. He wanted to scream with pain. His head dropped forward and he felt himself falling into darkness. Numb and cold, it was a relief, he could relax.

Kllhwnia. That wasn't the intended outcome. Should he change it back? He had to extrapolate to a higher order of accuracy. Changes to the timeline while he was present in it were unpleasant and he wanted to keep them to a minimum. Spock had improved in this timeline, he was more relaxed and accepting of his human side, his friendship with the humans had helped him. No, he didn't want to reverse all the changes he had wrought, a small change at a later date would be better. Just making Spock keep his mouth shut would work but he couldn't affect his mind with the marital bond in place. Saavik wouldn't say anything more after Spock chided her. Perhaps he could warn the Russian not to go onto the planet? He couldn't really make someone do what he wanted if it was against their inclinations, just nudge and suggest that they take action which they might be hesitant to otherwise.

He watched his brother's body as it lay in the cold green land of the Genesis planet. That was no place for a Vulcan. To his astonishment, he saw movement and a feral mindless deformity with pointed ears threw the lid of the coffin back and began gnawing on the remains of Spock's body, dragging the leg away when another creature challenged his position. They arose much faster than he thought possible, the mass generated from the energy released during the Genesis process. Vulcan curiosity piqued, he wondered how they'd managed it and backed up to watch over the Marcus' research. The radiation had deformed a lot of Spock's cells and it showed in the twisted creatures which spawned from his body. He sorted through the creatures, watching for one to arise that looked normal. When it did, the others ate it, so he tracked the first creature, triggering its fear reflex until it ran away and doing the same to each as they arose. The gnawing had exposed inner undamaged tissue and the resulting progeny were more normal looking. He inspected them for defects until he found a suitable body and pushed the unformed mind until it ran to the cold wintery environment. The other wouldn't follow unless desperate. It was simple to increase the aggressive Vulcan instincts until they fought each other to the death. The remains decayed rapidly in the unnatural atmosphere.

The Klingon wouldn't budge, he wanted to kill the closest to a warrior and Saavik was it. The smallest nudge and David Marcus flung himself into battle a fraction earlier and saved Saavik's life.

He watched but did not interfere in the fal-tor-pan. It was complicated and beyond his experience. If it was unsuccessful, he would change the timeline.

Well, that was better. He hadn't anticipated that much change. This was nice and good for him too. He followed the timeline for a while, pleased with what he saw. Until... No. Spock would be devastated. It might kill him. Couldn't he tell? Why won't someone do something? He moved from mind to mind, pushing at them but with no luck, he couldn't affect a bonded mind at all. That eliminated most of the possibilities. He tried her boss, who called, but satisfied with the message, let the matter drop. Wake up. Wake up, you're dying. He saw the bond thin and separate as the threads that bound katra to body loosened. She was dying…


	34. Chapter 34 Intrigue

Jim tugged at the high collar around his neck, trying to force it into a comfortable position before giving up in disgust. He'd left it until the last minute to button up but that was the best he could manage. A quick glance in the mirror showed he hadn't acquired a wayward hairstyle, so he headed out of his room and down the ship's corridor toward Spock's room. The calm of Spock's meditating mind gave way to the peculiar deadness of active blocking as he got close. The door swished open in response to his arrival and he waited while Spock removed the black meditation robe and hung it in his closet. The scent of the extinguished pyramidal asenoi faded as the air filters did their job.

Jim had spent most of the day in his cabin, trying to grab some sleep in between the constant interruptions from people the new Junior Communications Officer kept putting though to him. Uhura was, like the rest of his friends, on Beta shift today and attending tonight's soiree in an official capacity. Spock had spent the day off the bridge, supervising the addition of scanners and ion detectors onto the outside of 'Enterprise' because someone in Starfleet had managed to move 'Gaseous Anomalies' to the head of the research list. Jim had suppressed a groan when he'd heard the new research focus but the news that the 'Hood' had made first Contact with race with potential to join the Federation after being sucked into an innocuous swirl of gas had cheered him no end. Automated scans from fifty years earlier had listed the star and its orbiting planets as lifeless. The 'Enterprise' had been in line to scan that sector of space but Jim had spun a small diplomatic incident on their last mission into a two week delay and the assignment had passed onto the next ship to dock.

"Is there a problem, Jim?" asked Spock, inspecting his own reflection for flaws and smoothing down the front of his dress uniform.

"She sent in an application." The words rushed out of him. He'd been going to wait to discuss it, had tried meditation as a last resort to ease his stress. Spock had enough of his own problems for the next few months.

Spock turned to face him. "Commander Rand?" and Jim nodded in response. The subject always caused him to flinch. Spock hadn't formally entered his resignation from Starfleet yet but gossip was quick and competition was fierce. She was qualified and deserved the position based on merit but Jim knew his own limits and didn't want her there. On the other hand guilt from not giving her what she had earned would drive him mad.

He didn't have a clear memory of events when he separated into two people. He had read the reports, watched the security tapes and had occasional flashes of memory. Had seen the effects on Janice Rand as she struggled to cope with the trauma and continue to work with him day after day. Had seen the crying wreck of a young woman when she came to his office asking for a transfer and flinching when he touched her arm to ask what was wrong.

"I have spoken with Captain Sulu and Commander Chekov. There is an opening for Communications Officer coming up on the 'Excelsior'," said Spock. "If I delay my notice of resignation by a few weeks, she may apply for that position. Even if she does not, Commander Chekov is more qualified for the position of First Officer. " Jim nodded, relieved at the suggested solution and they left the room and strolled down the corridor to the transporter. The 'Enterprise' was the fleet's Flagship but First Officer of the 'Excelsior' would be an acceptable substitute. Nyota and Scotty entered from a side corridor, Nyota's colourful dress fluttering as she walked. With a worried frown, Nyota asked "Is Gillian not coming?"

"She was very tired this morning, I suggested that she stay home," Spock explained. Nyota nodded and gave a strained smile. "Good." Jim gave her a pointed look and Nyota nodded in response to his unspoken command. She would run interference tonight for Spock, diverting the busybodies away from him.

A short walk down the corridors of Starfleet headquarters got them to the half full ballroom where the Interspecies Integration Council's Monthly Social Event was on. It was the Andorian's turn to host this month so the decorations were white and silver, giving the vague sense that they were at a Christmas party, or at least a non-denominational Winter festival of some kind. He headed for the far wall, where the buffet was set up, dishes displayed in bowls of ice, surrounded by the white and pastel flowers of Andoria. At least the food would be edible, if not his preferred taste. The Romulans had catered last month and like Vulcans they lacked a sweet tooth. He'd tried every dish at the buffet, trying to find one that wasn't bland, spicy or acidic. Spock moved towards the vegetarian section of the buffet and placed a few pieces of fruit on his plate.

As though his thoughts had conjured them, Gillian's Strays appeared behind him making Jim's hackles rise. He smiled at the Romulan Ambassador and greeted him. "Ambassador Nanclus, Rai, it's nice to see you again." Nanclus had abandoned the military look for more casual pants and tunic but Rai still wore his uniform. He smiled and nodded a greeting back. "Dr Taylor is not with you tonight?"

"No. She was not feeling well and she has a full day tomorrow, " said Jim, surprised to see a flicker of disappointment on Nanclus' face. He thought Gillian was being naïve to think Nanclus hung around so much just because he was lonely and friendless. Nanclus had benefited from the friendship, expanding the circle of people who were prepared to invite him to social gatherings and thus his potential espionage activities and the number of places to which he had access.

"Still keeping up with your surfing lessons?" Jim asked, grateful for the neutral topic of conversation.

"Yes, I have booked time in the holo deck near the Embassy. I am at Level Two and I have decided to go to your Southern hemisphere to practice when I have completed level Three. I look forward to showing my progress in the summer." Jim groped for another topic of conversation. "There will be Andorian flute music soon. That will be nice." He suppressed a yawn at the sheer tedium of the exchange.

"It is like nothing we have on ch'Rihan," Nanclus agreed with a smile. And thus it was no good was the unspoken insult. Jim perked up. A bit of verbal fencing with the enemy was more his style.

"I'm sure there are many things here on Earth which aren't on ch'Rihan," he shot back, with a smile. "Did you walk over or teleport?" Jim was sure that Romulans had access to transporter technology but the arrogant ass could use the reminder which species invented it. Jim was always suspicious of Nanclus because he couldn't work out what he wanted. A part of his feelings were no doubt Spock's but Jim had practiced analysing his emotions and separating himself from Spock. His gut instinct had served him well over the years and Spock's was shocking. There was no way every young man who smiled in Gillian's direction was a traitor deserving of death.

It was possible that Nanclus was a traitor deserving of death though and he didn't think all the friendly overtures in the world would affect his opinion. They stood in awkward silence for a minute until H'daen arrived, face flushed and out of breath to take up his position behind Nanclus' shoulder. With a mumbled excuse, Rai peeled off to prowl the room for women in search of a little Interspecies interaction. This necessitated another round of pleasantries which killed some more time.

H'daen's eyes slid sideways over Nyota. He really was the most useless bodyguard in existence. An assassin would need only bring a woman as a decoy and walk right up to Nanclus unimpeded. Rai was considerably more of a danger. Or at least, that's how it looked. Jim wouldn't be surprised to find out that H'daen had super spy powers and was the more deadly of the two because he looked so useless. But then maybe that's just what they wanted him to think. Or maybe by making him think that, they could pad out their numbers with idiots like H'daen and Starfleet would have to waste resources following him around constantly. The circular thinking made him kept the affair from being as boring as most events of this nature were. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

He selected one of the frosted glasses from the table and held it towards one of the fountains, which was trickling pale juice into a waterfall. "I suggest the Septra juice," said Nanclus, pointing to a darker pink stream and Jim took waved his glass under it until two finger widths of juice filled the bottom of the glass. He sipped and his mouth filled with a sweet but tart flavour. Surprised, he nodded his gratitude and ignored the superior smirk of the Romulan.

The orchestra was assembling in the centre of the stage, so Jim took the opportunity to excuse himself and gain a better position. The Ambassador trailed behind him, engaging Nyota in conversation. He caught sight of McCoy and Tonia and waved but they were in conversation with Christine Chapel and Jeffrey M'Benga, so he didn't intrude. Tonia gave him a concerned look. It would be a long night of compulsory socialising and he would catch them later.

The Ambassador settled himself into a seat near the end of the row, with Nyota at his side. They spoke too fast in Rihannsu for Jim to understand more than the odd name but he watched their body language and thought that they began with general pleasantries and moved on to discussing mutual acquaintances, some of whom were present in the room. A soft piping noise gradually rose from the hubbub of voices, the beginning notes of the symphony. There would be no verbal announcement, just the flute urging everyone to silence.

Despite his disparaging comments, Nanclus maintained an expression of polite interest better than Jim did. The soft sounds of the flute kept threatening to send him to sleep. The display was short, with an intermission to encourage mingling. Jim took the opportunity to escape, taking the opposite route out of the lines of chairs. He had no desire for a career in diplomatic circles but politics was ever present. Admiral Robert Fox wanted Kirk's co-operation at diplomatic functions in exchange for support on Jim's retaining captaincy, so here he was. He would speak to several of the more prominent Ambassadors before leaving but he would take the chance to drum up some more allies. He reached the side of Patrick West, who sources told him, was next in line for promotion to Admiral after Kirk. Jim was more than happy to let him jump the queue in exchange for his support. Bones was right; ignoring the situation wouldn't make it go away. He had a number of enemies in Starfleet and he needed allies to balance things. The Klingon he was standing next to, sneered at Kirk and stormed off, to his amusement.

He'd finished arranging a meeting when Nyota, Spock and the Romulans turned up. He made the introductions and they all had to stand around and make polite conversation again. He wondered what it would take to make a fight break out. Not that he would do it, of course, tonight was about making alliances, but it was an interesting mental exercise. He wasn't the only one bored. Nanclus made disparaging remarks about the music once again, but they were different insults.

It was a long, boring evening but at least it was productive. Finally, he walked Spock to the exit door where they would part ways. "Would you like a game of chess," he offered and tried to stifle a yawn.

"Not at this time, Jim. You are more of a challenge when well rested. I will spend some time with Gillian. I have not spoken to her since this morning." Jim placed his hand on Spock's, the flesh cold to his touch. It was an illusion, his mind trying to give form to the sensation of Spock's suppressed emotions. He stared into Spock's eyes, looking for emotion, without success. It was pointless; he knew what Spock feared and would fear until Gillian's pregnancy was over. He remembered the dead emotionless look in Spock's eyes from before and hoped he wouldn't see it again. He'd planned to find some company for the rest of the evening, but he was exhausted so he took the cable car home.

**Author's Note: Gene Roddenberry has gone of record as saying that whenever Kirk kissed a woman in private, it was to imply sex was occurring. Makes The Enemy Within even more disturbing doesn't it? The camera cuts away just before his lips touch Edith Keeler's, so probably not her. Memory Alpha says William Shatner does not lock lips with Nichelle Nicholls in Plato's Stepchildren, so I'm avoiding that one, but mainly because doing so would give me the same story line twice. **


	35. Chapter 35 Sea Of Blood

Spock awoke to darkness and the scent of blood. The room reeked of it. Gillian's faint, mortified voice captured his attention. "Spock, this is embarrassing, the baby must have rested against my bladder. I think I've wet the bed." Spock called for an Emergency medical team and ordered the lights on knowing what he would see. The reality was worse. The lights brightened, bringing the nightmarish vista into focus. A huge puddle of red blood soaked the sheets under Gillian who lay on her back, pale and limp. Her face, usually so beautiful and animated, was drawn and haggard, her eyes drifted shut. The logical part of Spock's brain pointed out the blood was mixed with amniotic fluid, which helped it spread, made everything look worse, but the primitive part was howling. The sense of Gillian present in the back of his mind was fading as she bled to death before his eyes. He shoved his pillow under her hips in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding and breathed his expired air into her lungs. The round lump of her abdomen was lifeless beneath the brush of his hand when he checked for the faint fluttering pulse beneath her breast. No contractions formed to dispel the child from her and slow the bleeding.

It took twenty seven seconds for the emergency medical team to arrive, assess the situation and beam Gillian to the hospital. The remaining Vulcan Healer gave a pointed look at Spock's blood streaked nakedness and he retreated to the bathroom. When Spock emerged dressed, showered and outwardly calm, he was running a tricorder analysis of the sheets. "Osu Spock, would you detail the movements of Dr Taylor as you know them."

"She was tired this morning. She was not out of bed when I left for work, although it is her habit to walk along the beach at dawn. I left a message suggesting she cancel our engagement for the evening and she did not show. I returned home by 2000 hours and she was in bed." He had not wanted to wake her, although, it dawned on him, he had not seen her awake all day. He required extra meditations to deal with the high level of anxiety he was feeling and had stayed in the lounge room, in the dark for several hours before he was relaxed enough to attempt sleep.

The doctor noted this and queried "Did she go to work?" Spock crossed to the message console and horror spread through him as he examined the message log. He played the one this morning from Gillian to the New Cetacean institute. Gillian's strained voice spoke "Hi Terry, I'm so tired this morning. Can you get the grad students to check on my experiments? I'm going to have to cancel my lectures today. I might see the doctor again, so don't be surprised if you have to reschedule tomorrow too." A quick check of the log revealed no further outgoing messages, but several unplayed incoming messages regarding missed lectures and interviews. The door log recorded no openings other than his.

The doctor's communicator beeped and he read the message. "Osu Spock, I regret to inform you of the death of your child. I grieve with thee. According to my associate, cause of death was suffocation due to lack of oxygen. You may ask for a more in depth autopsy if you wish. Dr Taylor is in a stable condition. Her blood volume is back to normal and she is undergoing removal of the child and routine post-natal treatment. There will be little ongoing physical trauma from the incident. Dr Seris attributes her extreme tiredness to the parental bond, her physical condition reflecting the child's. There is no additional information to be obtained here. Would you like to go to the hospital?" Spock nodded and the transporter beam captured him. He arrived alone, a courtesy which he did not appreciate until the next day when he returned to a spotless apartment.

Twelve minutes later, his mother entered the room, crying. He stood from the bench seat where he had been waiting, intending to update her, but she threw himself against him, hugging him and sobbing "I'm sorry" over and over. Which was illogical, it was not she who had failed in her duties as a bond mate. He knew better than to argue with her though, and let her do as she wanted, though it made keeping his own emotions under control more difficult. He had not been thinking, until that moment, of how he had deprived his parents of their grandchild as well as Gillian of her child. When she quieted, Sarek took the opportunity to observe in a quiet voice. "I grieve with thee."

At this, Amanda retightened her grip, and then released him to inquire "Where is Gillian?"

"She is undergoing routine treatment," he told her. Amanda gave him a disbelieving look. 'Vulcans" she swore viciously and left the room, shaking her head. Spock and Sarek faced each other, the air thick with silence.

"Your mother will know what comfort a human woman needs." offered Sarek. "She has been through this herself when you were three and your brother was born."

Spock looked at his father and they shared a moment of camaraderie. Amanda had almost died trying to have a second child. An interspecies pregnancy was more stressful on the mother than a singular species one. "It was most kind of you to make this effort."

"It was no effort. You are my son."

It had occurred to Spock that Senek's death had been the catalyst for his parents' decision to stop trying to give him a sibling. Of course, their decision was easier due to the fact they had a child. Sarek had provided the clan with an heir of his blood. Spock, for his part, had failed in this most important duty. The two sons he had fathered on T'Para had both died due to hybridisation failure. The fault was his and the proof of it had been present every time he entered his house. Sarek had no doubt intended T'Para's two children from her first marriage would give Spock the experience of fatherhood. A young woman with a child under three months old would not have to marry again so soon after her husband's death unless an extreme emergency happened. It had, in the end, proved too painful for Spock though. Weak, and ashamed of his weakness, he had fled back to Starfleet, returning to Vulcan when dictated to by his biology. His stepsons were virtual strangers to him. He had directed all his paternal instincts on Saavik, instead.

And now he had failed his daughter and his bond mate. He had read the Vulcan Science Academy's assessment of the baby's genetic structure. Vulcan logic could not conceal their admiration of Gillian's work. The intricate and detailed work all done in the embryonic state. Gone was the need for constant tampering with the foetus at all stages of development, the gradual increase in the statistical probability the child would live. He had read it and been forced to the realisation of the fact there would soon be a living child with his DNA. Until his failure this morning when he had kissed his sleeping wife goodbye and laid his hand of her abdomen, feeling the sleeping mind of the child inside her for the last time. Pain forced his eyes closed and he began the lowest level of meditation.

The swishing of the door was a distant sound and did not disturb him. He knew without opening his eyes that Jim was on his left and Leonard on his right, huddling close for comfort. Some illegal computer hacking had no doubt been involved to discover where in the labyrinthine building he was and obtain access.

It was several hours before Amanda returned. She touched Sarek's fingers in the ozh-esta before turning to Spock. "She is getting dressed now; Room 5601, down the hall to the left. She wants you there to say goodbye to the baby." Spock nodded and stood but Amanda moved to intercept him. "Her emotions are in fragile state at the moment. Don't start an argument." Spock started to protest but Amanda cut him off again. "The doctor said she should wait at least a year before trying to conceive again, for health reasons. Gillian wants to use that time to get better, physically and emotionally. You can put forward your argument next year, until then, it's a taboo subject." She waited until he nodded then moved away, allowing him access to the door. Jim had risen with Spock but under the influence of Amanda's gaze, he regained his seat.

Spock entered Gillian's room to find her standing beside the bed, looking at a swaddled bundle. A quick glance showed him a glimpse of a tiny dark haired baby with pointed Vulcan ears. Spock had explained the matrilineal nature of Vulcan clans and Gillian had emphasized the baby's Vulcan heritage. He pushed away the memory of the other two babies whose funerals he had attended, and turned to Gillian, preparing to apologise for the unforgiveable. She opened her arms and turned her tear stained face to him "Spock, please, just hug me. We can talk later." He gathered her in his arms and they stood for several minutes until the front of his tunic became wet with tears. He didn't allow himself to cry. He thought if he started, he might never stop.


	36. Chapter 36 Shower Of Grief

Her head pressed against the pebbled plastic of the shower wall and hot water streamed over her head and down her back. She ached all over, her head throbbed. She had hoped the hot water would relax her muscles and stop the tension headache which the painkiller hadn't touched. Something wet and cool touched her stomach and she glanced down to check what it was. Small puddles of milk speckled the obscene bulge of her stomach. Her breasts were grotesque, swollen and covered with stretch mark and white droplets formed at the tips. Tears clouded her vision and a knot formed in her gut. She had the body of a mother, but she had no child. She was the very definition of failure.

She slid to the floor of the cubicle, sobs wracking her body. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she curled on the floor and let her grief run free. She cried until her body forced her to stop. The knot in her stomach loosened, leaving a hollow instead. Her throat ached and snot and tears ran from her nose. She could feel her limbs shaking. Her body was weak and useless, it disgusted her.

"Gillian" Spock's smooth baritone voice came from the other side of the door. "Are you alright?"

"I'll never be alright again," Gillian wanted to say but she couldn't force the words through the lump in her throat. She wondered what he was doing here. She had sent him off to work this morning. He had been driving her insane, hanging around the hospital, watching her for the last three days. Now she was home again, she had wanted some privacy. It upset him when she cried, she could tell.

How long had she been crying in the bathroom? Long enough for him to become concerned and either teleport or shuttle down from the Enterprise. The tears had worked; her pain had vanished, replaced by a numb sensation. She pulled herself to her feet and turned the dial to the sonic setting, ignoring Spock's repeated queries. She couldn't deal with him now.

She drew the brush through her hair, smoothing the tangles then pulled it tight into a ponytail. Then slowly, she dressed in a loose workout outfit. Almost nothing else she owned fit her, she was too fat for her normal clothes, those Spock hadn't recycled, and too thin for her maternity clothes, she would have to shop.

She examined herself in the mirror whilst bracing herself to enter the living area. The image confirmed what she knew, she looked horrible. Dark circles round her eyes, which were now red from crying, her face was puffy from residual hormones, her hair, usually her crowning glory scraped back in a ponytail, exposing her naked face. The dark jacket was unflattering to her complexion. She reconsidered, she should make an effort and pretty herself up. In the end, it proved too much effort and she opened the door without changing anything.

Spock almost fell in the door on top of her, he was so anxious. If he'd been human, he would have. She stood in the doorway, waiting while he rebalanced himself and stood back. "Gillian, I was concerned when you didn't answer my calls." She pushed past him, without speaking. Nothing she could think of to say felt like it was worth the effort. He could see she had been in the shower. She tried to remember what her plan had been after the shower. Nothing came to mind, so she sank into the plush cushions on the couch. Spock stared at her. "Gillian, you were to meet me for lunch. It is one o'clock."

Guilt surged through her, mingled with surprise. All she'd done this morning was shower. She looked at him wide eyed. "I didn't realise the time," she whispered.

His gaze softened and he reached for her fingers. "Have you eaten at all today?" He managed a neutral tone with no censure. She shook her head. "Did you drink anything?" another head shake. No wonder she had a head ache. She braced herself for his lecture, but instead, he fetched a glass of water which he held to her lips while she drank. Then, he stripped the messy blood stained bedclothes, dumped them in the shower cubicle and remade it with fresh sheets. A chime at the door interrupted her second glass of water. It proved to be home delivered pizza. "Doctoring not paying well these days, Leonard?"

"A distinct lack of attacks by tentacled aliens in Space Dock," he said, ignoring the fact he was a psychiatrist. She gave him a wan smile. The dinner went better than she expected. Spock, so concerned about proper behaviour in public, sat on the couch beside her and hand fed her the pizza while Leonard kept up a light chatter about current events and gossip which covered the awkward silence between Gillian and Spock. Not that Gillian had a good answer to the 'what have you been doing' question. Afterwards, he left with a quiet 'my condolences' and a peck to her cheek as he left, escorted by Spock. She lay on the couch, disinclined to get up.

Spock followed McCoy up the hallway. "Can you help her, Doctor?"

McCoy stopped and faced the Vulcan. The scene in the apartment had unsettled him. "Don't you want to get back to the Enterprise first for some privacy?" His voice was harsher than he intended. Spock had that effect on him.

"I am not returning to the Enterprise, I will stay with my wife." McCoy was disconcerted.

"No, that's no good. Look, is there a room we can talk in?" Spock nodded and led the way to a plain reception room a short way up the hall. They stood in the centre ignoring the low beige couches.

"You should come back to the Enterprise," he said as Spock locked the door.

"I believe my place is with my wife. My absence disturbs her." Well would wonders never cease, Spock thinking of someone's emotional comfort.

He tried to explain. "Your absence is good for her," Spock cut him off. "It is not, you saw her." He was correct, she had looked terrible. Leonard had never realised how much of her Gillian's beauty was her bubbly vibrant personality.

"She's a human, not a Vulcan. She needs to experience her emotions, work through them. Not suppress them." He expected an argument but did not get it. Spock stood waiting for the rest of the explanation. "When you called you said she had not cried since the first day. She wants to, but she must know it upsets you." It had, Spock had never taken a personal day in his life, much less three. His older sons had been born, and died between missions. "When you're there, she has to keep up a brave face. She can't give in to her emotions. Some people don't cry and that's fine, but Gillian wants to but won't do it in front of you. She had to wait until she was alone."

There was silence and Leonard thought he was going to have to explain further, but Spock inclined his head.

"My mother? Or you?" he suggested in a tentative voice.

"I think she needs to be alone. Isn't your mother off planet?" In any case, Gillian had appeared to be assuring Amanda she was fine the last time he had seen them.

"Yes, there is a crisis in Cardassia."

"She should be fine by herself…"

"She is most undoubtedly not fine, Doctor. I cannot leave her like this. What if she…" They had reached the root of his fear Leonard realised. Spock's fear she would do herself some harm.

"I can authorise Christine to check in on the security feed every hour or so and to stop in if she thinks Gillian needs someone to sit with her. For the next few days" he offered.

Spock considered that, "That would be acceptable. Do you think she will improve so rapidly?"

"This will be the worst few days. Her hormones are settling back to pre-pregnancy levels, she'd be weepy even if she had the baby. You'll have to keep an eye on that next time."

"That will not be necessary, doctor. There will not be a next time," Spock spoke with absolute authority. McCoy thought Spock might be wrong but he didn't argue. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

They walked back to the shuttle, Leonard had beamed down, but since it was not Starfleet business, he had to pay to get back or use the shuttle for free. He decided to use the time to try to help Spock. He didn't have much hope of doing any good, after all these years, he still didn't understand the Vulcan. Liked and respected him, but didn't understand him. Of course, he was coming to the conclusion that Spock didn't quite understand himself. It had taken him years to acknowledge the human part of himself, if not be comfortable with it. These last few years, with Gillian's quiet acceptance, he seemed to acknowledging the Vulcan side as well. He was more rigid than he had been before he died, but at the same time, more at ease with the way he was.

He'd never have predicted those two together. The ego boost he'd gotten from her gushing over his actions during the imprisonment by the Vians had made him think she would pick someone more like him. He'd never tell but Kirk had seen the relationship before he had.

His probing questions found little ground. Spock refused to be drawn until McCoy lost his temper. "I can't believe how cold you are, Spock. Why Gillian picked you I don't know." The response he got surprised him. Spock stared into space a little above McCoy's left ear. "I don't know either. But I will do anything to keep her." There was silence while both men considered the statement. "Did you know doctor, over 80% of marriages fail after the death of a child?" He had known but hadn't considered the fact in relation to Spock and Gillian, they were solid.

"Including term marriages. You two are together forever. The chances are a lot lower for you." He believed with all his heart.

"Just tell me what to do, and I will do it. I did what the book said but it was wrong. She wants me to go to work, not be with her." To work, where Kirk was, McCoy would bet. Kirk had lost his child too, five years before and he was Spock's friend. So was he, he reminded himself.

"How are you coping with your loss?" he asked.

"I am fine, doctor." At McCoy's sceptical look, he amended his statement. "I have Gillian. When she is fine, I will be fine."

Unable to get any more from Spock, McCoy passed him off to Kirk and went to his office to make a call. Christine was full of sympathy and her glance darted to the holo he knew she kept on the desk of her own children, teenagers now.

"I'll go over there and see her,' she promised. "Watching thought the security feed would be weird."


	37. Chapter 37 Lost In Darkness

Mr Scott's calculations danced on the Central computer screen in front of Spock. He was, as yet, unable to detect the slightest error. He adjusted another variable and watched the probabilities calculation. He had performed the initial calculations mentally but these were so complex they required the use of the computer. It was a brilliant, innovative breakthrough in thinking and Spock had begun to favour Mr Scott's hypothesis that trans-warp beaming might be possible.

A cold feeling trickled down his spine as Gillian entered the room. Fluffy locks of hair floated loose around her red rimmed eyes and she wore her nightgown instead of her tracksuit. The nightgown represented everything that was wrong. Even when heavily pregnant she had never concealed herself from him but since returning from the hospital, he had not seen her naked. She acted as though the thin fabric could conceal the changes in her body that the pregnancy has caused.

She had resumed her morning exercise routine with a religious fervour since the death of the baby and it had become the new normal. Exercise, followed by a shower and breakfast, then the only part of the day he enjoyed. She perched on the edge of the bed between his knees and he braided her hair so it lay flat against her head, running his fingers through the silken locks and breathing in the unique scent of her with which he was so familiar. It was the single remnant of their routine which remained untouched.

As she had requested, they did not talk about making another attempt to have a child. Nor did they talk about anything else. Her leisurely morning walk had become a hard run and the shower afterwards was quick and perfunctory, never the excuse for a sensual exploration it had often been before. Breakfast was silent and joyless, a preview of dinner, when she returned home from late from work and further exercise.

She had returned to work after ten days, although she had cried most of the first day, watching George and Gracie with their new calf, according to Dr Liang. At night, she would wake sobbing, from a nightmare which became cold reality and he held her while her hand groped at her flat stomach. She never acknowledged him and tensed whenever he touched her anyplace more sexual than her back. She held herself apart from him, her emotions locked beneath the surface. She had abandoned all creative endeavours. Guitar strings unplucked, half-finished novel unwritten, tangled coils of yarn lay forlorn in the bottom of her closet. Gone too, were the loving extras that used to pervade their marriage. Illogical as they were, he had treasured the physical notes she left in his pockets, the special food she had made to tempt him, the way she massaged his hands when he'd been at work for hours.

Improvements had been few and far between. The first night she had slept without nightmares, he had awakened from meditation to find Gillian had destroyed the gifts people had given them for the baby while he was at work. There weren't many, he had suggested people wait until the baby was at home before they set up a nursery, in case what had happened, happened. The ashes, a silver comb and a stretchy old fashioned baby outfit his mother had bought, nothing remained. Since then, he had brought work home with him so he was in the apartment whenever she was or asked Christine to visit until he got home. She saw few people other than Carol Marcus outside of work, claiming that she did not like the awkwardness that people had around her, that their constant words of condolence and apology were meaningless and did nothing to help. He performed extra meditations, to deal appropriately with his memories. Vulcan memories did not fade as those of humans did. Unless he used specific mind techniques to push them into the far recesses of his mind, they remained as clear and sharp as the day they formed. Every memory and the emotions that came with it.

"Is there a problem?" he asked. A hesitant smile flickered across her face but died. "On the contrary," she said. Her head turned away from him as she spoke and he braced himself. She seemed nervous, not happy so he did not expect good news. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet and laced with false cheerfulness "I lost all my baby weight."

A muted sense of grief was all he could feel through the bond which he kept narrow, in an attempt to keep her from being flooded by his overwhelming emotions. Opening had sent her into a hysterical crying fit. She must have wanted to lose weight, hence all the exercise and he opened his mouth to congratulate her when she crossed the room and slipped her legs to the outside of his, straddling him. Reaching forward, she placed her hands on his shoulders, lifting her lashes to meet his gaze, a shy girlish gesture. "Want to see?" She caught her lip between her teeth as though he might say no. Sometimes Spock had great difficulty following Gillian's thought processes. In answer, he reached for the neckline of the hated gown with both hands and tore it, with great precision down the front. He could hear a genuine laugh as he buried his face in her cleavage.

The touch of her was familiar but not the same as it had been. Pregnancy had not changed her body but it had made her tentative and sad where once she had been bold and happy. He could taste salty tears on her face when he kissed her but ignored them. She had been gone from him for so long and now she was coming back.

Later, he lay in their bed, curled towards her, running his hand over her hip, into the dip of her waist. He let the bond open, feeling her relaxed contentment drain away, replaced by high strung anxiety. "You have to say something," she whispered into his ear, her arms still wrapped around his neck, hair tangling in his face.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked keen to say the right thing.

"Something personal," she said her voice soft and hesitant. "The book said so. The one Leonard left. So we don't grow apart in our grief." He had read the book also, hoping for something, anything helpful. She sounded as doubtful as he did as to the efficacy of the suggestion but the fact that she had suggested it, that she wished their marriage to go on was reassurance in itself. He felt her surprise when he gave his prepared answer. It was not logical to wish for that which could not be.

"I grieve for the death of our child. I would change the past if I could." Tears welled in her eyes and she took several shaky breaths. Then in a rush, she whispered "I'm so sorry I put you through that. I wasn't thinking at all about how hard it would be for you. I was so arrogant, I thought I could do it and make everything perfect and instead I caused you so much pain. I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't realise what it must have been like for you. Just the thought of trying again makes me want to be sick with stress. I don't know how you did it all those times."

He drew her to him in a gentle embrace and placed his lips against her hair in a demure kiss. Relief flowed through him. She was going to listen to logic. He would make more of an effort, from now on, to show her the life they could have. They had fallen into cosy domesticity during her pregnancy, staying home more often than travelling, taking advantage of the time for just the two of them before the demands of parenthood enveloped them. He would return to the behaviour of their early courtship, showing her the wonders of the 23rd Century. He would take her to Luna for her birthday, to see what was left of the Great Wall of China after the Romulan attacks, to Berengaria IV so she could see dragons if that's what she wanted, even if it was a dismal, cold swampy world.

"I have missed you," he said. "It has been lonely here without you." She snuggled closer to him and they lay together for a time. She was coming back to him.

He entered the Ready Room to find Captain Kirk sitting at the head of the rectangular table with a cup of coffee, ankle crossed over his knee. Alpha shift changeover hadn't started yet, so Spock said nothing, moving to stand behind the next chair. Jim's face lit up with a smile "Oh good," he said, "Gillian's feeling better then." Spock stared at him, at a loss how to respond. He wasn't sure of the basis for Jim's statement. "Yes," he said after a brief pause. That seemed safe enough. Nyota and McCoy entered the room, McCoy standing back to let Nyota enter first, as he did for all women, except Gillian, who was inclined to lecture him on the disrespect inherent in such a gesture.

McCoy glanced at him and smiled but Nyota crossed the room smiling and stepped forward, kissing his cheek despite his effort to step back and avoid her. It was an inappropriate gesture; they were both married to other people. "I'm so glad she's feeling better," she said, delighted. She looked at him and Spock made an effort to keep his face neutral. He should be good at it after all these years. She laughed and answered his unspoken question. "It's your body language, Spock. You've lost a bit of that horrible tenseness to your shoulders." She gazed into his eyes, considering, and added, "And the hollows under your eyes are a bit reduced."

"So, you're staying with us, then?" asked Jim. Spock had no answer. He had withdrawn his resignation from Starfleet but now had no plans for his career. He had intended to move into the diplomatic Corps like his father while Gillian took a few years off work to be with the baby. He had been lecturing at the Academy for the last four months. "I do not know," he replied.

"You would be the best choice to complete the treaty you've worked on. I know you have it organised for someone else to finish but you did all the work, you should get the credit. You would do it better than any replacement."

"I should stay on Earth, near Gillian," he responded. Nyota's head nodded in silent agreement and McCoy 'harrumphed' and shifted position.

"She won't mind," coaxed Jim. "She knows what your job involves. She's never complained before." He would have to resume normal life but was uncertain if it was too soon. The mission wouldn't require him to leave for another two weeks.


	38. Chapter 38 I can Feel Myself Losing You

"Hikaru sent me some video, now the news is out. Did you get a chance to watch it?" The explosion of Praxis had dominated the news vids since the previous day and all of Starfleet was scrambling to determine what effect it would have on the political situation. The lack of reaction from Qo'noS was making it difficult to predict. Spock had spent most of the day in discussions with his father over the appropriate actions. He was stationed at Starfleet Academy, sorting through the data collected by the ship on their missions and giving lectures. Pavel Chekov had taken over his duties as Science Officer on the 'Enterprise' in his absence. Jim had refused to log his resignation, hoping Spock could convince Gillian to come on the 'Enterprise' instead of staying on Earth with her. Spock knew Gillian would not respond well to such a suggestion and hadn't brought it up.

"I did," Spock said. He swiped a piece of tomato from his salad. Long years on the 'Enterprise' had accustomed him to the human habit of eating during meals. Usually Gillian talked and he listened. She turned her head to watch the replay she had projected onto the wall, fascination playing over her features. They were eating at the small pull out table in the kitchen, a common occurrence when they were alone.

"Have they started organising relief yet?" she asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps it was for someone who had risked her own life to save the members of a species other than her own and taken an alien to her bed, despite living most of her life in a pre-contact time. Unlike the members of the Federation Council, many of whom had argued for letting the Klingon Empire die.

"They are still arguing," he responded, taking his empty plate to the disposal unit. "There have been no volunteers to be the Envoy. My father would but he has other commitments. He is trying to free up his schedule but so far without success. His preliminary overtures have been well received." He reached for her hand but she twisted out of reach and ran laughing to the couch in the living room. He cleared the rest of the table, his doing housework amused Gillian and put her in a good mood. He toyed with the evening's plans. He wanted to discuss the fallout of the Praxis disaster further with her, but she was in a playful mood, which was always fun.

"It's been a year," announced Gillian as he entered the lounge room and pain clutched at his abdomen. She reclined against the cushions on the couch, legs crossed in front of her. A relaxed pose but she vibrated with energy and excitement. She was correct. Neither had broached the subject last night, the actual anniversary, but Spock had held Gillian when she cried herself to sleep, something she hadn't done for months.

He had hoped she would realise her desire for a child was hopeless while she was married to him but she would choose to stay with him anyway. This did not appear to be the case. The conversation he had dreaded so much was here.

He took a moment to centre himself, clasping his hands behind his back and standing at rest. "Logic dictates it is impossible for us to have a child together. My genetic structure does not support your desire." He willed her to see the logic in his statement.

Gillian's brow creased. "No, it doesn't. There was nothing wrong with the genetic engineering… last time. It was an cord accident. You are letting your fear get the better of you." She was determined to go through with it then.

"I am a Vulcan. I do not feel fear. Your request is simply illogical."

"I want to try again," she insisted, bottom lip quivering.

"No, it is illogical," he repeated. She must agree with him. She must.

"You agreed we would try for a baby." Her tone lapsed from reason into pleading but she drew a deep breath and continued with her voice even once more. "You knew I wanted one."

He had agreed. She had seemed so certain that it was possible. That they would not proceed until success was guaranteed. He had read her research. He had been foolish and illogical and gotten his hopes up.

"We tried and failed. You do not have my consent for another attempt," he said and watched her blanch. He had provided her with samples of his DNA years ago, she would still have them. He would send a notice to the laboratory, rescinding his permission to use it.

"Please, Spock," she begged, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Just one more try?"

"Under no circumstances will I agree," he told her. Her head dropped in defeat and hope flared within him. Hope that he would be enough for her.

He was unprepared for her next statement. "You want to move on to using donated sperm, instead?"

He stared at her, horror coursing through him. Where would she get such an idea? "No." Too forceful, he must control himself better; keep his tone of voice neutral. "No. Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"If you don't want to try again with your genetics, a human baby is the next logical step. We wouldn't have to worry about the success rate, then. I'd prefer to try once more with you, but I'm willing to let you persuade me. Did you want to go anonymous, or would you prefer to ask someone you know?" She crossed her arms over her body, hugging the pillow to her as if protecting herself from him.

"You want to have a child with someone else?" He fixated on this point.

"I don't want to, but I will if I have to." It was the next logical step, he knew, but jealousy would not permit him to agree to it. He had spent years avoiding events where the children of friends would be present. He had no desire to avoid his own wife again.

"You don't understand, after Aisling, the need to be a mother has grown in me. I could feel her for months, moving inside me. You never wanted to, I know, and I don't blame you for that, but I couldn't help but get attached to her even before she was born." The pain in her voice was evident. Vulcans did not name still born children and no official record existed of the name but Gillian had told him her choice one night and referred to the baby ever since by the name which meant 'Longed for Child.'

"I forbid it." He knew it was a mistake as the words left his mouth but couldn't keep from saying them.

Gillian surged to her feet, "You forbid it" she hissed between clenched teeth. "You forbid it?" She was so tiny compared to him that the pose, meant to be threatening was cute, but he did not dismiss the threat she posed. She held his happiness in her hands and looked prepared to throw it away because of her desire for a child.

"Yes" he couldn't force any other word out. She couldn't do this to him. He wouldn't let her.

"You can't forbid anything. I don't belong to you. I'm not your wife. I'll do whatever I want. I'll have whatever baby I want and you can't stop me.

The reminder they were not married enraged Spock further. "You will not get pregnant again with my child." The alternative was no better. The thought of another man's child growing inside her was infuriating.

"I can if I want and you can't forbid me," she yelled back, chin thrust out.

"I can and I do." Anger was creeping into his voice no matter how hard he tried to prevent it.

"I can do whatever I please." A triumphant smirk played across her face, angering Spock more. "And I am going to do as I please and there is nothing you can do about it."

"I will leave," he forced the words out. He could not stay and watch if she did this. She looked stricken, as if he had slapped her.

"What?" she said, eyes widening in response to his statement. He felt satisfaction that his threat should hurt her so, that he could repay some small measure of the pain she had dealt him during this conversation. She must still care for him a little. He needed to say something, anything to turn her affections back to him. Silence filled the room. There must be something he could say to change her mind. Jim or Nyota would know but the right thing escaped him.

Her face was dead white and her eyes were huge. Tears threated to spill down her face. Would his threat be enough? In a voice barely above a whisper, she responded. "This is what I want, Spock. More than anything. Just this. I have never asked you for anything before now. I didn't ask you to give up the job which you love, or your friends, or to defy your Grandmother and insist that she acknowledge me but I am asking you for this." He kept his face blank while she searched it, her eyes pleading with him. Defeated, she said "I should have known. In the end, the only person I can depend upon is myself. Everyone else always lets me down."

She turned and walked off to the bedroom. Spock tried to control his anger but before he realised it, he was standing before the bedroom door. How dare she? She would learn to do as he told her. His hand, raised to open the door was shaking with fury. He stared at it and forced discipline on himself until it was still once more.

He wanted to follow her in, convince her to stay together but he was not good with romantic words. He had spent years trying to show her how much she meant to him. If that hadn't worked, what would? Broken sobbing was audible through the closed door. The sense of her in his mind reduced, grew indistinct, she was blocking him. Hurt, he shielded his mind from her. If she didn't want him, he would not impose on her. He stood for a few moments and gathered his things.

He stalked out the door, heading to the exit. He would stay at Jim's apartment for a day or two, in case this was temporary. Unlike Leonard, or his mother, Jim would not ask awkward questions and Spock could keep an eye on him. He would forgo hints and tell him he did not wish Gillian to have Jim's child. At least he would be spared that. She would not find another before his Time, he thought, not with having a new baby to care for. Maybe, if he kept up intermittent contact, they would find their way back to each other once the child was grown and gone. Many Vulcan marriages were conducted with less contact. Before that, he would meditate and regain his inner composure.

His father, flanked by his aide and the short stout Ambassador Blenick, walked towards him in the corridor.

"Spock, do you have time to discuss the Praxis incident?" He was Vulcan. If he couldn't constrain his emotions he could master them, keep them from showing on his face and in his actions. There was work that needed to be done and he would do it, regardless of how 'not fine' he was feeling. He nodded and let them lead him to an office.


	39. Chapter 39 Concealment

**Authors Note: Lots of dialogue from "The Undiscovered Country' in the next few chapters.**

On the one hand, it was the pinnacle of his career. They had asked him, told him he was the only possible choice. It was an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to achieve something long thought impossible. One last chance for glory when retirement was looming over him like a slow death. On the other hand, it meant dealing with the Klingons. And not the way he wanted, with a phaser.

He took a deep breath and took the framed ink drawings Gillian had given him for his birthday out of the bag on the bed. She and Sulu must have taken an art course. He attached them to the walls where he could see their reflection in the triple mirrors and stood back to admire them, letting the tension drain out of him a little. He hadn't needed to ask her opinion, he knew her well enough to know what it would be. He didn't think he had it in him to be as tender hearted as she was. He had whispered his fears into her ear as he lay in her bed, his body curled around hers and let her comfort him. She had had to give up old prejudices, she reminded him. Had to get over Chekov's Russian ancestry despite growing up in the shadow of the Cold War, had to work with scientists of Vietnamese background despite her brother's death in Vietnam. One of the children who had bullied Spock so mercilessly at school worked in the Vulcan Embassy. Jim had threatened revenge when she told him that, but she admitted to stepping on his foot with her heels whenever possible and apologising profusely for her clumsiness. He'd still stuck his foot out and tripped the pompous ass when he passed him in the hallway.

He fished a couple of his favourite ornaments, gifts from Spock and McCoy almost twenty years ago, out of the bag and placed them on his desk. His picture of David was the last item, he held it in his hand and stowed the bag in the cupboard. He looked again at the picture and sighed, putting it on his desk, turning it so he wouldn't see it when he lay in the bed. He carried it with him everywhere, but couldn't always bear to look at it, to see his smiling face, so young and know he was dead. He reached forward to the control; he might as well start his log of the mission.

"Captain's Log Stardate 9522.6. I've never trusted Klingons and I never will. I can never forgive them for the death of my boy." Jim's agitation forced him to pace the room while he dictated into his log. Three steps took him to the bed where the next open gear bag lay.

"It seems to me out mission to transport the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council to a peace summit is problematic at best." He hung his dress uniform in the closet. So many people on both sides were against it, how could it succeed?

"Spock says this could be an historic occasion and I'd like to believe him."

"How on Earth can history get past people like me?" He had tried to get over his hatred, but it clung to him like cobwebs, never gone, just wadded up and stuck in some inconvenient place for him to discover later.

It had been miraculous, to be back on the bridge for one last decent mission. He had spent too long close to Earth these last few years. His enemies had used his own record against him, arguing that he should be nearby to save the Earth, as he had from V'ger, from the whale probe. Pointing out that five year missions were psychologically draining and had been phased out in favour of shorter missions and he had been on two. These last years had been a round of shorter, diplomatic missions within Federation worlds, with people who knew his name and reputation.

It was the end of an era. For him anyway. Not for Spock and Sulu. Sulu was only three years into his career as Captain. With a relatively unblemished record, he had another ten years before they promoted him to a desk. Jim gave an envious sigh.

Spock's precise words rang in his ears. "I have personally vouched for you in this matter Captain." He was the Captain, the one who knew how to deal with people. Spock was the one who followed behind him. Or that's the way it had been.

"How could you vouch for me? That's…arrogant presumption." His own words betrayed his disbelief. It was tempting to blame it her, on him, but in reality it was just life. He was old and Spock was not. Spock was reaching the age at which he would achieve full adulthood in Vulcan society. Opportunities for new careers were opening up in front of him, not closing. Spock had a new wife and if he got over himself, a young family. If he hadn't failed David, he might be a grandfather by now. He had failed, though and there would be no family for him. Carol had refused to forgive his failure, wouldn't take him back.

"You know how I feel about this. They're animals." He cringed at the memory of what he'd said. In a way, it was true, but he was ashamed that he'd said it. He never wanted her to hear of it, she would think less of him the same way Spock did.

"They are dying," Spock had said, still the voice of his conscience after all these years.

"Let them die." It wasn't a surprise, her choice. She had chosen the better man, the better human. He missed her, even more since he had left her bed, missed the warmth of her body against him.

Valeris coughed, alerting him to her presence. "Sorry," she said from the doorway, her straight dark hair pulled back behind her Alice band to reveal her ears. He had heard of Spock's protégé before and knew that basics of her career but had not met her before today. It was Spock's effort at a legacy, his desire to leave something behind in the absence of children. Something more personal than his scientific achievements.

"You could have knocked." He felt off balance, he had thought himself alone, not observed, had let his private face show through.

"We are almost at the rendezvous sir. I thought that you would like to know," Valeris said, her voice pleasant and interested, showing more animation that most Vulcan's. It was Spock's suggestion, to help her associate better with humans, a small amount of diplomatic training.

"Right," he said, still adjusting to the topic at hand.

She picked up his remaining bag and carried it into the room. Released, the door slid shut behind her. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"It is an honour to serve with you." He turned away, throwing the bag on his bed. "You piloted well out of space dock, Lieutenant.

She made him smile. "I've always wanted to do that sir." No mystery why this one had chosen a life in Starfleet over the regimented life on Vulcan. They weren't all stuck up.


	40. Chapter 40 If Not Us, Who?

What they needed were cold hard facts. A human expression but one which Spock had no trouble understanding. Facts were, like logic, cold in comparison to the heat of feelings. They were hard, solid, something to cling to while the world went mad with hatred and fear and bloodlust.

Motive could come later, when he knew what had happened and how. Why was only important insofar as it led to who. What had happened was wrong, illogical and he must direct events towards ensuring success. Later, Starfleet would find and punish the perpetrator. Peace was preferable to war, life to death and friendship to enmity. Surak had preached these things and Starfleet was aligned with his view in this matter. There was no moral conflict. All he needed were the facts.

Character came into it, of course. He had not doubted, even when General Chang had accused Jim of blatantly defiling the peace process, it hadn't crossed his mind. He knew Jim as well as he knew himself, better perhaps. There were parts of his psyche he denied, refuted, claimed to not possess and thus did not examine too closely. He was not guilty, nor was Jim, Bones, Nyota or Mr Scott. Most of the crew were innocent and he could trust them to track down the guilty party.

Jim offered surrender to the Klingons and Spock stood before the Science Station on the bridge of the 'Enterprise' to offer his service. Jim refused, taking his place "We will not be the instigators of full scale war on the eve of Universal Peace." Jim would never take the safe option when a more dangerous one presented itself. He placed his hand on Jim's shoulder, palming the tracking device onto his back. "Perhaps you are right." He set to work, searching the computer system for signs of data tampering. Either the databanks contained incorrect information and they had not fired, or a person or persons unknown had fired torpedoes from the 'Enterprise' without proper authorisation. A physical search would narrow the possibilities.

Jim and Leonard's horror and indignation warned him. He was not surprised when Uhura's polished voice interrupted his scanning of the databanks. "They've been arrested."

"Mr Spock. We've got to do something," Chekov prompted him, spokesman for the crew who clustered around the Communications Officer, waiting for leadership. He had applied for a Captaincy but not gotten the position and had asked Captain Kirk to mentor him in leadership. Spock would take over this duty as well.

Spock strode away from the Communications console "I assume command of this ship as at 0230 hours. Commander Uhura, please notify Starfleet Headquarters. Tell them precisely what has taken place and request instruction."

"Aye, sir," she responded, bending her head to her task.

"We cannot allow them to be taken back to Qo'noS as prisoners," Valeris objected, following him. She was picking up a lot of bad habits from humans. He had permitted yesterday's piloting out of Space dock because she was a Vulcan and had the appropriate reflexes. Vulcans had never had such a rule until it became part of the Federation. Standardised rules made dealing with alien races more bearable. Following a direct order given by the Captain which did not affect the ship's safety was logical and would allow her to bond with the crew more quickly. Insubordination was a different thing altogether.

'What do you suggest Lieutenant? Opening fire will not retrieve them and an armed conflict is precisely what the Captain wished to avoid. We will be able to follow the Captain's movements." That should reassure her that he had knowledge she did not and was in control. Not as in control as he would prefer but events had not degenerated beyond hope of salvation yet.

"How did you achieve this, sir?" she asked.

"Time is precious, Lieutenant. We must endeavour to piece together what happened here tonight. According to our databank, this ship fired those torpedoes." If they had been alone he would have told her, but there were traitors on the ship and he did not have time to check for listening devices. He would reassure her without giving details.

"No way," denied Mr Scott, shaking his head.

"I sympathise Mr Scott, but we need evidence. Please accompany me." The engineer walked past him to the turbo lift and he turned to follow. Perhaps now they would return to their stations and do their jobs.

"And if we can **not **piece together what happened? What then, sir?" Chekov asked. Spock placed his hand on the lift door, preventing it from closing and leaned forward.

"In that case, Mr Chekov, it resides in the purview of the diplomats."

Valeris slid down the pole, landing on her feet in front of him. "Gorkon's daughter has been named Chancellor. It was on the news."

"I bet that Klingon bitch killed her father," Mr Scott said, coming up behind him.

"Her own father?" Spock asked. Patricide was an unusual act in any species, although not unheard of, it was rare.

"It is an old story, sir," prompted Valeris.

"They don't place the same value of life as we do, Spock," Mr Scott explained earnestly. "You know that. Take my word. She did not shed one bloody tear." So even Mr Scott did not value the Klingons as people.

"Hardly conclusive, Mr Scott, since Klingons have no tear ducts." Not as humans understood them. They were located differently and thus did not overflow like humans but they still generated tears to lubricate the eyeballs

"Lieutenant, any response from Starfleet since our despatch?" he asked, to change the topic of conversation. Philosophical debates could wait. Opinions did not matter, only actions did.

"Yes, sir," Valeris answered.

"And?" he prompted.

"Commander Uhura is experiencing technical difficulties, sir." Mr Scott gave a knowing smile and Spock's eyebrow rose. Valeris was becoming quite the liar in a short time. Whose idea had it been? "Curious," he replied. "Very well, for twenty four hours, we will agree this conversation did not take place." He turned away from them both, heading back down the hall.

"A lie?" queried Valeris.

"An omission," he qualified.

"In twenty four hours, we won't have a clue where Captain Kirk is," Mr Scott protested.

"I know precisely where he will be," Spock countered. Again, someone questioned his decision. A Vulcan crew would obey orders without question but he better than to expect that of the crew of the 'Enterprise'.

"You do?" asked Mr Scott. "Where?" He did not answer. To be accurate, he would know their location when he looked at the signal from the Viridium patch.

The trial was organised in less than a day. Although he had other, pressing duties, he watched the feed from the Captain's chair, looking for information. He had no first-hand account of the attack on the ship. The mention of magnetic boots triggered a possible line of inquiry. He tapped search parameters into the computer. How many pairs of boots were on board, how many supposedly still in inventory? The assassins were skilled, therefore not likely to have booked them out under their own names, but the possibility could not be ruled out, it would make a good alibi to hide the information on plain sight. He needed facts, to cut down the number of variables in his theories. He spun the chair toward the screen and walked closer.

"Rura Penthe." Uhura breathed.

"Known throughout the galaxy as the aliens' graveyard," said Chekov.

"Better to kill them now and get it over with," said Mr Scott, to Spock's incomprehension. His fear had eased. With life came hope. Jim had squirmed out of tighter spots than prison before. The chances of rescuing him from execution without triggering interstellar war were slim, but rescue from Rura Penthe was possible, even without the Viridium patch.

"Lieutenant, the torpedo hit, once again, please." He was talking to her like she was a human, now, with illogical pleasantries.

The image of the torpedo played on the main view screen. "Hold," he commanded.

"It is 'Enterprise'. We fired," said Chekov.

"That is not possible. All weapons visually accounted for," protested Mr Scott. "Sir," he added.

Spock walked towards the screen. "An ancestor of mine maintained that if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." He had possession of the facts now and could apply logic. He knew what had happened.

"What exactly does that mean?" asked Uhura.

"It means that if we can not have fired those torpedoes, someone else did."

"Well they dinna fire on themselves and there are no other ships present," pointed out Mr Scott.

"There was an enormous neutron energy surge," Spock said.

"Not from us," protested Mr Scott.

"A neutron surge that big could only be...produced…by…another…ship" Mr Chekov's voice trailed away as he grasped Spock's train of thought.

"Kronos 1?" asked Uhura, looking at him in inquiry.

"Too far away," Spock fielded the argument. "Very near us, possibly…beneath us.

"If there were a ship beneath us, the Klingons would have seen her," argued Mr Scott. Spock's gaze dropped then rose to meet the assembled crowd. Would Valeris follow the argument? "Would they?"

"A Bird-Of-Prey," Valeris spoke, having made the connections.

"A Bird-Of-Prey," he confirmed and lifted his eyebrow to encourage the conclusion of the thought. It was Chekov who made the connection first, enough to speak out loud. "Cloaked?"

Mr Scott was the devil's advocate. "A Bird-Of-Prey cannot fire when she's cloaked." Spock turned and seated himself in the Captain's chair again.

"All things being equal Mr Scott, I would agree, however things are not equal. This one can." It was the logical deduction.

Valeris spun in her chair, "We must inform Starfleet Command."

"Inform them of what?" shouted Mr Scott, pacing in agitation around the bridge. "A new weapon which is invisible? Raving lunatics, that's what they'll call us. They'll say that we're so desperate to exonerate the Captain that we'll say anything."

"And they would be correct," Spock acknowledged. "We have no evidence, only a theory which happens to fit the facts." It was more than he had had a few hours earlier and he still had leads to follow up.

"Assuming you're right Mr Spock…" he turned to face Commander Uhura who leant on the railing behind him. "Why would they fire on their own President?" she asked.

They were at motive again and he had no answers. "Indeed." He swung around to face forward. "This ship will be searched from bow to stern. Lieutenant Valeris, you'll be in charge." He would let his protégé have a close up view of his investigation, which would combine the best of Vulcan values with human intuition, supplied by the crew, not him. He had watched Jim work for years, using the skills of his crew to enhance the outcome. Leadership had always been Spock's weakest skill but he needed it now. With his guidance, she would understand the advantages human intuition could bring to a situation when properly tempered by logic. It was always hardest for those who went first, he would make it easier for her.

"Aye, sir,"

"I do not understand," said Chekov. "If there was a ship underneath us, surely the assassins beamed aboard from that wessel, not 'Enterprise'." His responsibility was to hone all the crew to command, as long as it did not detract from his investigation.

"You are forgetting something Mr Chekov. "According to our databanks, this ship fired those torpedoes." He walked to the screen above the Science Station which displayed the information. "If we did, the killers are here. If we did not, whoever altered the databanks is here. In either case, what we are looking for is here."

Chekov still looked puzzled. "What are we looking for, sir?"

Spock directed his gaze towards Valeris, surely she knew the answer, it was logical. "Lieutenant?"

She had the answer. "Two pairs of gravity boots,"

Spock walked into the galley, Chekov at his heels. It was a scene of controlled chaos with Valeris ducking around the chefs to inspect the cupboards. The ovens covered the walls of the rooms and two preparation tables with inbuilt cupboards were in the centre, requiring them to circle through the narrow walkways. "Any progress?" he asked Valeris and received her "None" in reply.

"We have a crew of three hundred turning their own quarters inside out but the killers may still be among them." It was of course, the flaw in the plan, that the searchers included the killers but to be more accurate, the crew was searching each other's quarters. He hoped that human sentimentality did not get in the way of good searching and they did not let other crew do a quick tidy of any embarrassing items in the room.

He walked around the room unaffected by the whole turkeys on display on the larger square preparation table room after all these years. He was pleased to see Valeris handled the sight well, acting as if it weren't there.

"Surely they have disposed of these boots by now? Would it not have been logical to have left them on Gorkon's ship?" Valeris asked.

"Even logic must give way to physics. Gravity had not been restored by the time they escaped. Without the boots they would have floated off the Klingon transporter pads." Valeris hummed in agreement.

Across the preparation table, Chekov asked "Why not simply wapourise them?" making a gun shape with his hands to illustrate his point. Valeris used the phaser to vaporize a metal pot one of the chefs was using to make bread, demonstrating the security features of the ship, which Chekov should know. Spock suppressed a groan when the alarm went off, it would necessitate the crewman taking longer to complete his task. He would suggest a better method of communication later, in private. He had suggested that he learn from her human crew members but she lacked the judgement to know who were good examples and whom she should ignore. He also made a note to have the crewman trained. He appeared to be kneading bread dough in a pot with a whisk. It was unimportant at the moment, so he left it for later.

"Suppose when they returned, they threw the boots into the refuse?" Valeris suggested.

"I'm having the refuse searched," he assured her. "If my surmise is correct, those boots will cling to the killers' necks like a pair of Tiberian bats. They could not make their escape without them, nor can they simply throw them out the window for all to see. Those boots are here. Somewhere."

Commander Uhura entered the door near Spock simultaneous with two security crew entering the far door he had entered. "Did somebody set off a phaser?" It was not yet time for her shift but she was in uniform.

"It's all right. It's nothing," Chekov shooed security out the door.

"Mr Spock, Starfleet is screaming for us to return to port," Uhura told him. Mr Scott's entrance interrupted his consideration of an excuse. 'Who fired that…?"

"Ah, Mr Scott. I understand you are having difficulty with the warp drive. How much time do you require for repair?

"There's nothing wrong with the bloody thing…" They would have known instantly if it were Kirk who made the suggestion but Spock had to explain. "Mr Scott, if we return to space dock, the assassins will surely find a way to dispose of their incriminating footwear and we will never see the Captain or Dr McCoy alive again.

"Could take weeks, sir." Scotty grinned.

"Thank you, Mr Scott." The engineer had not completed his leave taking when Spock turned to the Lieutenant. "Valeris. Please inform Starfleet command our warp drive is inoperative." He would have to take the punishment later, but long years under Jim Kirk's tutelage had shown him getting the job done was the important thing, pay the price later.

Valeris looked…delighted "A lie?"

"An error," he replied. It was a useful skill, obfuscation.

Uhura looked at him, concerned. "You understand we have lost all contact with the Captain and Dr McCoy?"

"Yes, at the moment they are surrounded by a magnetic shield. However, if I know the Captain, by this time he is deep into planning his escape." He had confidence in the wily Captain.

Spock examined the purple blood under the microscope. "Klingon blood," he confirmed.

"They must have walked through it when it was floating and tracked it back here," Chekov said. He had found the smeared droplet when examining the transporter room for physical evidence.

"This is the first evidence which corroborates out theory," Spock told him.

"Now we go to Starfleet," Chekov announced hopefully.

"Now, we expand our search to include uniforms,' corrected Spock, running tests to see if further information could be gleaned from the sample.

"All uniforms?" asked Chekov which was an unmistakeably stupid question. What would a search of half the uniforms show them? Spock stared at him until he left, shamefaced, to order medical to supply security with the needed scanners.

Eventually, the search yielded results and Valeris's search team found the magnetic boots in the locker of crewman Dax. Had the assassins hidden them immediately, or in panic once the search had started? Either way, it was a poor choice of hiding spot. Although the crew seemed to derive some amusement from Chekov's Cinderella analogy failure over and above the fact that it was a French tale, they had lost the chance to pass suspicion onto someone and divide the search. The crewman's large gnarled feet proclaimed his innocence. Was it incompetence or the desire not to inflict harm on the man's reputation? Either way, the evidence Spock had assumed would be damning, proved nothing and Valeris was mortified as her assumption of triumph turned to failure as she watched.

"There they are," announced Uhura. Both Jim and McCoy had been broadcasting extreme cold for hours so he had asked her to be alert for even faint traces from beyond the shield. She had set the scanner to high resolution and had been tracking the patterns, isolating a patch which had remained constant. Now the signal was strong and just beyond the shield range.

"They are emerging from the beaming shield." He turned to face the engineer. "Mr Scott. Start your engines."

"Aye, aye, sir.

"Mr Chekov, set course for Rura Penthe."

"Mr Spock, Rura Penthe is deep inside the Klingon Frontier. If we are discovered…" He was going to have to explain every decision he made.

"Quite correct Mr Chekov. What is needed now is a feat of linguistic legerdemain and a degree of intrepidity before the Captain and Dr McCoy freeze to death."

He turned toward the Communications Officer with an upraised brow. "Commander Uhura, how is your Klingonese?" She had specialised in Romulan at the Academy and also spoke the languages of the Federation, Basic, Vulcan, Andorian and Tellarite.

She looked discomforted. "I speak the trade language they use with other species, sir. Not the formal languages they use amongst themselves. I can look up the records." He nodded. The delay caused by a Universal Translator combined with the measured tone of the speech would give away their identity. He turned his attention to the rest of the preparations as she ordered language dictionaries brought to the bridge. His part done, Mr Scott joined his wife, flicking pages open to likely phrases in the various dialects. Uhura took the most common one used by the non-ridged Klingons, without the prominent teeth, she would not be able to enunciate correctly to pass as a ridged Klingon. It was still rare for a woman to be on a Klingon ship, so he hoped that would be a diversion.

The guard at the listening post repeated the same phrase several time. Spock made a rough translation based on the language similarities and what he expected to hear. "What ship is that? Over."

Commander Uhura's voice gave the information to match the alteration Mr Scott had made to the ship's identity beacon, "We art thy freighter ...Ursva."

"Six weeks out of..."

"Kronos. ...Over."

The guard sounded more interested, less sleepy but more flirtatious than suspicious. "Whither are you bound? Over."

"Whither are you bound? Over."

" Whither are you bound? Over."

He was about to translate but Mr Scott said "What is your destination. Over."

"Rura Penthe..." prompted Chekov unnecessarily and Commander Uhura said "Rura Penthe" into the intercom in Klingonese. Feeling the need to clarify, she continued "We is condemning food, ...things ...and supplies." Spock thought there was an error in that statement but the guard made a remark in response and he could hear the laughter of two male voices. There was a frantic race for a translation but at the behest of Uhura's dark haired assistant, they laughed heartily and were permitted through. It was a punishment detail, guarding the route to Rura Pente as much as working on the planet was. The guards must have been glad of something to break the monotony.


	41. Chapter 41 Cold As Ice

This was not in his job description. He was a doctor not a miner. Okay, whom was he kidding? If you worked for Starfleet for any length of time, you did a lot of weird stuff. This might take the prize though. He had been trying to save the Klingon Chancellor's life and this was the thanks he got. Jim seemed to have been convicted on the grounds that as the Captain, he bore ultimate responsibility for any actions taken by his crew as if this were feudal Japan or something. In which case, he was not entirely sure why he was here too. He might have protested if he thought that there was any chance of success. He was sure the outcome of the trial was fixed from the beginning, so he hadn't bothered. Besides, he had followed Jim Kirk around the galaxy for so long, he wasn't sure what else to do. He had faith and from a practical point of view, the two of them would last longer in prison than a man alone.

Being dumped on this cold god-forsaken rock in the middle of nowhere and had watched that poor boy freeze to death before they were even inside had shaken his faith. It had been horrible. He had seemed to be in his late teens. Klingons did not take captives, so was he convicted of a crime at that age or had he been born here? Did prisoners live that long or was he of a humanoid race that looked younger than humans did? He hadn't been able to get a good look, forced by circumstance to look away and he hated himself for doing so. The Vulcan had rubbed off on him, he couldn't think of an action which wouldn't end in his senseless death so he had done nothing.

The noises coming from the other bunk cheered him. Familiarity was comforting, even if it was hard to believe that here, in what was possibly the worst place in the galaxy a beautiful woman had propositioned Jim Kirk. He, Leonard McCoy was clever and according to several unbiased sources attractive and a doctor dammit, but women just never threw themselves at him the way they did at Jim Kirk. He was a happily married man and would have had to turn her down, but still, it would have been nice to have been asked.

He supposed it was his shift to keep watch, then. They hadn't had time to assign shifts, but with a bounty on their heads, it was prudent. Two had a greater chance of survival than one, and wasn't that why he was here after all? He had tried to help Jim in his fight with the alien but others had held him back, reducing him to shouting encouragement. Jim's luck had held, as it usually did and now he was freezing by himself in a bunk in the Rura Penthe prisoner sleeping quarters and Jim was…keeping warm.

When Martia left and Jim smirked over at him "Still think we're finished?" he grumped "More than ever," on general principle but let Jim get a few hours' sleep before he woke him. The grunting snorfles of their roommate kept startling him awake and he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he was exhausted. He turned their conversation over in his mind as he waited in the dark. The Hippocratic Oath made some things simple. Gorkon was injured and he had tried to save him. He had not hesitated, had done everything in his power despite what Chang had implied. It was not his job to make moral judgements, just medical ones. In the end, his skill had been insufficient to the damage as it too often was.

He had complained to Jim that they were finished, facing his deepest fears so that success would come as a pleasant surprise and he could deal with failure. Jim's confession, that he had not believed Gorkon had surprised him. He had listened without condemnation as Jim lashed himself for his perceived failures and told him he felt the same. This was not totally a lie. He had expected the peace overtures to fail but had hoped they would not. Peace, an end to hostilities, did everyone not dream of it? Most people anyway, not the assassins or those who had hired them. He had been sure that they were a minority. Even Jim seemed to be coming round. The opposition had sharpened his thoughts, making him examine his prejudices. It was good, even if his introspection was born of a desire not to be outdone by anyone, by Spock, by Gillian, by Gorkon.

Some things made life worth living, though and Jim's face when the tall, ugly alien beside them revealed itself to be Martia was a thing of priceless beauty. He would treasure it always. And never again regret that she hadn't come onto him instead. He rubbed it in. "What kind of creature is this? Last night you two were?"

"Don't remind me," Jim said and he tried to stop smirking before the glee became discomfort.

It all seemed too easy. Yesterday, they had been fighting for their lives, well, Jim had. Now it was like taking a tour. Didn't they have an assignment, guards? They wandered through the dark tunnels populated with an amazing array of alien species working under guard with laser cutters, chopping up rock. Was it valuable rock, or did the prisoners just have to do it to tire them out? Maybe the guards guarded armed prisoners?

The cart took them to the entrance they'd arrived at yesterday, or something similar. He was all turned around, they walked a fair way yesterday what with one thing and another. Three unenthusiastic Klingon guards ate at a table and waved them on after a few words from Martia. They were no doubt in disgrace if they had guard duty on Rura Penthe, and really, as long as they didn't attack the guards, did they really care? None of them had come to Jim's rescue yesterday. If Jim could get Spock to beam them out, maybe they had a chance. From this distance, he could hardly feel Spock, but maybe he could find them, if not normally, then if Spock was in a trance of some kind?

To his horror, once out of the line of direct sight, the hairy male Martia shrunk down until, her hair disappearing from her body, and of all surprises, clothes shrinking away until a small blonde human girl sat on the ground, enormous shackles falling off her stick like ankles. Yuck. He didn't even look at Jim's face, just checked whether the guards were watching. Martia's voice was still the same, incongruously deep from the small vocal cords. 'Come on, we don't have a lot of time." Was it an illusion? Some of the change must be real, to get rid of the shackles.

The whole situation stank to high heaven. He followed Jim, relieved when she turned back into the large hairy form. It's not like he had something better to do, they weren't mining rock, they were out of the wind, it was warmish down here and he could rock climb if he had to. Something was up, he was sure of it, but it was harder to get the drop on Jim Kirk than most people would think. He would be alert to assist.

They climbed for what he estimated to be less than an hour before reaching an ice covered cavern where Martia found a bundle of furs which she untied to produce three tunics and hooded capes which he was grateful to put on. It was still colder than it had been, icy wind whipped around his legs which only a thin Starfleet uniform covered but with luck it wouldn't be for long.

They passed the frozen corpse of a thinly clad humanoid alien and he wrapped the fur more closely around him and hoped it wouldn't be too long. The guards didn't have to be careful, the cold was the barrier. As long as they didn't try to take the lasers with them, they probably could have walked out the front door.

Constant strong icy winds buffeted them as they emerged into the open. Bright sunlight sparkled on the snow and the heat leached down their bodies through their feet even through the fur boot covers. The hurried pace as they left the caves slowed and his fear of pursuit drained out of him with his energy. There would be no pursuit from anything but the cold.

His legs burned after hours of walking. He couldn't keep up the pace and the gap between him and the other two grew. He put one foot in front of the other and Jim was there all of a sudden. He had stopped to let him catch up, hooking his arm through the crook of his elbow. The warmth of body heat enervated him slightly and he pressed against Jim, grateful for the help. They walked, and walked and walked, the cold and snow never ending. His age began to show, he slowed their party but as far ahead as Martia was, her large hairy feet acting like snowshoes, Jim stayed with him.

He entered an almost meditative state, so when the snow ahead fell away in a cliff, a dizzying drop of twenty or more stories, it came as a surprise. Martia did not pause, walking to the edge before stopping. She looked at them, eyes bright beneath her fur. He resented the clothing she wore, he could use another layer, but knew that his mood was caused by physical distress and remained silent. Petulant arguments wouldn't help the situation. "We have emerged from the barrier," she prompted.

"The 'Enterprise' will come for us, now we are visible. They are unlikely to be in orbit yet."

Martia nodded "We will seek shelter then, the night will be colder."

He supposed it would. He supposed he should enjoy the warmth of this pleasant spring day, then. His leg protested as he moved to follow her but he pushed on, physical activity would keep him warmer. They were committed now, they lacked the energy to return to the mine even if they wanted to.

If they burned a few too many calories, what did it matter? Cold gripped him, dragging his energy and hope with it. He stumbled, his knee striking the ground, bone deep pain throbbing through him. "Leave me," he insisted. He could rest and the odds of the 'Enterprise' finding them were slim anyway. A full planet scan looking for two tiny life signs would take hours and the Klingons would detect them before it was done.

"No," Jim yelled and him, crouching beside him and attempting to drag him to his feet. Jim staggered under the dead weight unable to lift him without help. "Bones, I'm wearing a Viridium patch on my back. Spock slapped it there just before we went on Gorkon's ship."

'Why that cunning little Vulcan," he groused.

"Come on," called Martia with a wave of her hairy arm. "We're in the clear." She didn't appear to have heard what they said.

"Now that we're outside the shield, they'll be able to locate us two sectors away." Jim tugged him upwards and hope gave him a surge of energy. He pushed himself to a swaying stand. "If they're even looking for us." Spock would be, he knew, but he was so cold. He forced his legs to move and the endless journey began once more.

As the sun descended across the sky, they huddled together for warmth. Martia must be afraid they'd die before the rescue. Or she wasn't as sure about the boundary as she indicated. Well, he had nothing better to do and she was warm.

It became too dangerous to continue as the light vanished over the horizon. They found shelter from the wind behind walls of ice. Martia snapped open a flare which produced heat and light. It was almost cosy and at least he could sit. Exhaustion dragged at his body but several of the day's events had triggered his suspicions, so he stayed ready. Even after hours of walking, it had still been easy. They hadn't seen any other bodies after the first one. Why were they the only ones who had made it this far?

Crouching in front of the heat, he asked the question that had been on his mind. "Would you mind explaining that little trick you do?"

"I'm a chameloid," was Martia's non-answer. McCoy had never heard of them.

"I've heard about you. Shape shifters, I thought you were mythical." Jim was bluffing, now, he could tell by his voice.

"Give a girl a chance, Captain..." purred Martia, shifting into her humanoid form. More bloody flirting. At least it looked better coming from her attractive female shape. "It takes a lot of effort."

It was quite fascinating watching her. Was this her natural form, could she change into anything, or was there a set number of forms she could take? Was he going to have to put up with a repeat of last night? It was freezing and he didn't want to leave that oh-so-convenient flare. On the plus side, he didn't think Jim was as keen on her. "I don't doubt it. Stop me if I'm wrong but do we have any way of knowing whether this is the real you?"

"I thought I would assume a pleasing shape…" So she didn't look like that. She stalked around the flare and Jim cringed back from her.

"We're outside the shield. Now it's your turn, Captain," Martia prompted. Maybe this was a genuine joint escape effort. Any sentient being worthy of the name would want to escape Rura Penthe. He'd have asked what her crime was if he thought there was any chance of an honest answer. It wasn't likely everyone in the prison was innocent but it was possible that firing on Klingons was a jailable offence in Klingon territory.

"If you say so," said Jim, pulling himself to a standing position. He lunged forward and slapped Martia's face. Surprised, she fell to the ground.

McCoy leapt to her defence. "Are you crazy?" Jim was under a lot of stress which could account for such an out of character action. He rushed to kneel at her side, arms outstretched to help her up. Martia's hand flew to the sore cheek.

"She didn't need our help getting anywhere. Where did she get these convenient clothes? And don't tell me that flare is standard prison issue. ...It's to let them know where we are. Ask her what she's getting in return." Jim stood, turning his gaze to the surrounding ice cliffs. Useless, the flare would make him night blind.

He sat back on his heels as Martia said "A full pardon, which doesn't cover this." Well, that would teach him to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

Jim was pacing again. "An accident wasn't good enough." He looked up and whispered, "Come on Spock." He was close, then.

"Good enough for one. Two would have looked suspicious..." Martia's features morphed into a duplicate of Jim's and her voice deepened to match his"...killed while attempting escape. Now that's convincing for both." The voice threw him, had she changed the vocal chords in the lift? Still, there must be some additional form of mimicry. He'd have to look up chameloids if they lived through this.

He leaned forward, looking for any deviations from the original. Pain flooded his face as she head-butted him and he fell back onto the snow. "Surprise!" came a faint voice.

Darkness blurred his vision. He shook to clear his head and the dark form slammed into his chest, sending pain shooting through his chest and back. Two Kirk's rolled off him and struggled for breath.

The fighting figures came to a halt and he heard the one on the bottom say, "Isn't it about time you became something else?"

"I like it here," came the response. The top one was probably Martia. He tried to keep track as they rolled over and over. He needed a rock, or a weapon of some kind. He cast his sight around. A snarl penetrated the night and he looked to see the long haired dog on steroids that had accompanied the Camp Commandant. His attention on the cloaked figures that ringed the walls of their hideout, the one eyed Commandant's menacing greeting of "Well, well, well..." didn't faze him. Come on, Spock, what are you waiting for. He tried to push urgency through the bond.

The Jim closest to him said, "What took you so long?" and McCoy guessed it was Jim. A look at the manacles still adorning his legs confirmed it. The commandant racked the disruptor into active mode, sending a chill of fear down McCoy's spine. The other, Martia, still looking like Jim said "Kill him! He's the one!"

Jim shot back, "Not me, you idiot. Him!" and pointed.

The Commander lifted the arm holding his disruptor and vaporised Martia, who arms stretched out on final, silent denial of her fate. Now it was up to Jim to act his way out of this. With luck, and they'd had precious little luck, he'd take McCoy with him. His heart sank as the Klingon Commandant barked, "No witnesses!"

Jim said "Killed while trying to escape," in an admiring way so McCoy backed him up. Every extra second was a chance at life. "Damned clever if you ask me." Feeling Spock's mind pressing on him, he walked closer to Jim. A simultaneous beam up would be necessary or the one left behind would die.

"It's a classic," Jim said.

The commandant confided, "That's what he wanted," and piqued Jim's interest. "Who? Who wants us killed?"

"Since you're all going to die anyway, why not tell you? His name is..." the commandant's voice faded as the transporter beam gripped them and the heat of the 'Enterprise's atmosphere wrapped around them.

Ensigns rushed forward with heated blankets. McCoy leaned into his and took the proffered cup of hot tea. What bliss. Jim rushed forward, complaining. "Damn it! What the hell? Son of a... Couldn't you have waited two seconds?"

Spock's puzzled voice said, "Captain?"

"He was just about to explain the whole thing."

Standing beside Spock, Chekov asked, "You want to go back?" as though he might send them. Damn Jim might go, too. "Absolutely not!" he said.

Discretion was the better course. Even Jim saw that and said "Let's go." And Spock followed him out of the room.

There was no rest for the wicked, and thus none for those who opposed them. He stood fully clothed under the emergency shower on sonic for an obscenely short time and grabbed an energy bar, eating it while he and Chekov followed Jim and Spock through the corridors of the ship. Spock filled them in on what had been happening while they were gone. "The Klingons have a new weapon. A Bird-of-Prey that can fire while cloaked. She torpedoed Gorkon's ship."

Pleased to have the mystery solved, Jim said, "So, that's it."

"Not entirely. I have reason to believe that Gorkon's murderers are aboard this vessel."

"I have a thought about that." Jim turned to face Chekov behind him, "Has the peace conference begun?"

"Who knows? The location is a secret," Chekov answered.

Through gritted teeth, Jim said, "There's always something." Bloody perfectionist. Enjoy being warm for a bit.

Mr Scott called from behind them. Bones stepped aside to let him and the pile of uniforms through. 'Captain! Mister Spock, I've found the missing uniforms with the Klingon blood on them!"

The reinforced metallic door in front of them slid open, revealing the red uniformed bodies of two men, the blonde one face up, the other face down on the corridor floor.

He recognised his old adversary death, but pushed forward and knelt down to check their pulses anyway. A cause of death might be visible. Scotty compared the names on the corpses with those of the uniforms. The blonde man's arm flopped as he manipulated it, and the jaw was mobile, rigor mortis had yet to even begin.

"But the uniforms belong to these two men! Burke ...and Samno!" said Scotty, comparing the name tags.

"Not anymore," he replied. "Phaser on stun at close range." He pointed at the bruise like mark on Samno's head.

"First rule of assassination. Kill the assassins," said Jim to Spock, who nodded understanding.

Scotty was frustrated, his breakthrough reduced to nothing. "Now we're back to square one."

"Can I talk to you?" Jim asked. Spock nodded and the two moved back down the corridor, heads together, plotting.

"I wonder why they weren't vaporised?' he mused, more to himself than the others.

"It would set off the alarm," reminded Chekov. He'd forgotten, he was still used to getting the Nurses to reheat his coffee rather than get a new one. He taken the phaser out of his desk and remembered every time he went to take it out. Damn bureaucrats. If they were staying on the ship, he'd have Scotty disable the alarm. Not much point now, there was every chance they'd be off to a nice Federation prison when this was over, unless they found whoever framed them.

What were those two plotting over there?


	42. Chapter 42 Betrayal Revealed

Spock lay in the dark, the sheets of the hospital bed drawn up over him. The door swished open and the soft footfall of the assassin crossed to the bed. After the previous failure, she would need to ensure success with a close shot. It was a she, the curved silhouette passing the displays told him that.

He reached his arm toward the switch and the room was flooded with light and his worst suspicions were realised. Surprise flooded Valeris' face. The quality of the tampering had narrowed the range of suspects to a small list. She had been on it. He couldn't prevent the disappointment that flooded him. She had carried his hopes and expectations into the future with her. And now she had betrayed him.

"You have to shoot." He pushed back the sheet and swung his feet to the floor. "If you are logical, you have to shoot." Her chin dropped, she couldn't meet his eyes. She lifted her head and spoke," I do not want to."

"What you want is irrelevant, what you've chosen is at hand." He advanced and her right hand rose, holding the phaser on him. Jim flung back his sheet and addressed her. "I'd just as soon you didn't."

She called herself a kindred intellect. Gorkon was more intelligent than she, more civilised, more honest. Without conscious volition, he slapped her hand away. Shock flickered in her eyes at his loss of control. He could see her surprise, the arrogance of the young who had yet to taste defeat. He let security march her to the Bridge. He did not wish to touch her, did not trust himself.

Valeris stood in the clear area in the centre of the bridge, facing the standing bridge crew. With her upright posture and spotless red uniform, only the smug upturn of her lips marred the picture of Vulcan efficiency. "I did not fire. You cannot prove anything."

"Yes I can. At my trial my personal log was used against me. ...How long did you wait outside my quarters before I noticed you?" Jim stood in front of his Captain's chair, legs apart, watching the assurance fade from her face, replaced with blankness. She turned her face to Spock and said "You knew? ...I tried to tell you but you would not listen."

Spock stepped onto the lower level, walking towards her. "Neither of us was hearing very well that night, Lieutenant. There were things I tried to tell you, about having faith." He couldn't conceal his disappointment, knew it was visible on his face.

Valeris looked at him and set her chin. "You have betrayed the Federation. ...All of you. " She addressed everyone in the room. She was not going to listen to logic. Her fear ruled her actions. He would have to take drastic action and did not want to. Not with his emotions this out of control. He was adrift in the sea of his emotions, no longer anchored by his mate.

McCoy called from the back of the room. "And what do you think you've been doing?"

"Saving Starfleet," Valeris insisted. "Klingons cannot be trusted. Sir," she walked towards Kirk, pleading for him to understand. "...you said so yourself. They killed your son. Did you not wish Gorkon dead? 'Let them die.' you said. Did I misinterpret you?" Jim sank into his chair, shocked by the implications of her words. "...And you were right. They conspired with us to assassinate their own Chancellor. How trustworthy can they be?" How trustworthy then were Vulcans, by the same argument, talking peace and bringing assassination. She was lost to logic, bound by fanaticism.

McCoy spoke, his voice soft. "Klingons and Federation members conspiring together." It was rather ironic, if you put it that way.

Jim pushed aside his emotional reaction and continued the interrogation. It would be much more agreeable if she would cooperate. "Who is 'us'?"

"Everyone who stands to lose from peace." No one could lose from peace. Losses would come from those who wished to continue the conflict.

"Names, Lieutenant," Jim demanded.

Valeris gave him a spiteful look, "My comrades will make sure all your ship-to-ship transmissions are jammed." She still did not realise what was coming if she did not confess.

"Names, Lieutenant." Jim's voice was harsh as he snapped at her.

"I do not remember," she said, defiant and turned her back, walking away. Such a child, to think that would be the end of it. Vulcans did grow up sheltered.

"A lie?" Spock threw her own question back at her.

She turned her head to face him. "A choice."

Jim's quiet voice came after a few seconds of silence. There would be no reprieve. "Spock."

His steps echoed in the silence of the bridge. Her back tensed. She must realise now, what he had to do. Give in, confess, he urged. He didn't want to do it, but he must. Waves of her fear swept through his fingers as they gripped her arm. He was stronger than she, more ruthless. Logic dictated she give in now. Fighting him was an ego driven act. She would have to endure pain and effort and the end result would be the same. She should not think that she could defeat him.

He dragged her by the arm to face him, glaring down at her. There was no point in blocking, she would feel his disappointment and disgust soon enough when he was in her mind. If she felt his confidence, she might think again and confess.

Fear flickered in her eyes and mind but she remained silent. His fingers rose to touch her psi points and she jumped back. A useless gesture, she was surrounded by Starfleet personnel. The fingers of his free hand dug into her arm and he jerked her back into position. He slid his hand up to grip the back of her head, holding her still.

His warded mind pushed into hers. Surprise flickered through her at his speed and power. He was very skilled, while not at the level of a Priest or a Healer, he had performed many more melds than usual for a Vulcan, often on members of alien species. Being the head of a gestalt of six minds let him tap into their power. If she had applied logic to her knowledge, she would know that. It was knowledge in the public domain that he had developed a large increase in power in the last year of the Five Year Mission.

He searched for the information he wanted. It was at the forefront of her thoughts but clouded with rising fear and horror. "Admiral…Cartwright," he gave the first name, the one she had dealt with the most.

"From Starfleet?" whispered Chekov.

"Who else?" urged Kirk, rising from his chair.

He held her mind captive under his, they spoke as one. "General ...Chang."

Kirk demanded, "Who else?"

"Romulan Ambassador and others."

Kirk prompted him, "Where is the peace conference?" She fought him. Her power was above the level in her files, which explained her over-confidence. It was a long standing plan. "Where is the peace conference?"

His hand slid from holding the back of her head, accessing the other psi points. She could not break away now. He forced further into her mind, ignoring her protests, her screams of violation. Anger burned though him, he would not let her defeat him. Her mind collapsed before him and he withdrew.

He shook his head, he had failed. "She does not know."

The expression of distaste on Mr Scott's face faded to disappointment. "Then we're dead."

He stared at the trembling Valeris. He could do nothing for her. He walked away. "I've been dead before. Contact Excelsior. ...She'll have the co-ordinates."

Uhura had suppressed her horror at his actions and fled to her console. "I've already got it, sir." Commander Uhura was a talented cryptographer and had undone Valeris' tampering with the Communication equipment while they set the trap to implicate her. None of the ships assigned to the conference were responding on the assigned frequencies. Saboteurs on the other ships must be filtering the emergency channels and diverting messages from the 'Enterprise'.

Captain Sulu, clean and well groomed, in contrast to Captain Kirk and McCoy who were still sporting ratty facial hair, appeared on screen. "Standing by, Captain Kirk."

Jim smiled a greeting. "Sulu! You realise that by even talking to us, you're violating regulations."

"I'm sorry, Captain, your message is breaking up."

"Bless you, Sulu. Where's the peace conference? They're going to attempt another assassination." Long years of friendship let them dispense with the formalities.

"The Conference is at Camp Khitomer, near the Romulan border. I'm sending exact coordinates on a coded frequency."

"I'm afraid we gonna need more than that. There's a Bird-of-Prey on the lookout for us. And she can fire while cloaked." He was asking Sulu to risk his new Captaincy and unblemished record.

"Surely not."

"Hold on. ...How many of those things are there? Come on, Lieutenant!" Unspoken, Jim's threat of another mind meld gained her compliance.

"Just the prototype," she said.

Jim turned his attention to the view screen again. "Do you hear that?"

"I'm getting underway now. We're now in Alpha Quadrant. The chances of our reaching the conference in time are slim."

"When does this conference start?"

"According to my information, today." That would reduce the chances of success by seventy six per cent.

"Thank you, Captain Sulu."

"Don't mention it, Captain Kirk."

Arrest attended to, he took to his room, to shore up his crumbling mental defences. Fear, loneliness and disgust at his actions competed with relief and anger. He could not function like this for long. A week without sleep was not long, but he was so tired. He was letting his emotions dictate his actions, an unacceptable behaviour.

Gillian was blocking him and it tore at his mental defences. Complete blocking of the marital bond was an unusual action. He had done it during their courtship, but the bond had been new and weak then. Some couples kept it very low but it should always be open and ever since he left Earth without informing her, Gillian had kept it shut, even when she slept. Before that, she had kept it low, a faint awareness of her emotional state. Sleep relaxed him and that meant that she was opening it during his normal sleeping hours, which was something. He had not slept since the night of the banquet in honour of Gorkon. It was a necessary sacrifice but he was paying for it now. At each midnight, the bond opened, allowing him a brief touch of her mind against his and a flash of disappointment before she retreated. Like a drop of water to a thirsty man, it was of so little use nothing would be preferable but he was helpless to resist temptation, to block from his side of the bond.

What had happened with Valeris had been disagreeable. There might be an investigation by the Vulcan Council, or at a minimum, by his matriarch, but his actions would pass. It had been necessary, the needs of the Federation were more important than trauma to him and Valeris. He would have to deal with the guilt later.

He took out the robe he had worn after the Fal-tor-pan. It was the same as those issued to every acolyte, easily replaced. He had laundered it and when she found it, Gillian had stitched the piece he had torn for a headband back into place. He put it on and lay on the bed, relaxing into a meditative state. He fixed his muscles into a state of atonia and made adjustments to his immune system. He remained conscious but his body would gain the advantages of sleep in far less time than could be achieved by sleeping. While he rested in fast forward, he would attempt to calm himself. He did not have time for the detailed analysis of his emotional state he required. He would have to force functionality on himself.

The door swished open. He had it locked but Jim had the combination. "Spock?" Jim called.

"I prefer it dark." It aided the circadian rhythm he was enforcing.

Jim's slow measured footsteps came closer. "Dining on ashes?"

"You were right. It was arrogant presumption on my part that got us into this situation. You and the Doctor might have been killed." His arrogance could have killed his two greatest friends.

"The night is young. You said it yourself. It was logical. Peace is worth a few personal risks. ...You're a great one for logic. I'm a great one for rushing in where angels fear to tread. We're both extremists. Reality is probably somewhere in between us." It was an indication how far Spock had come from the days of his youth that he agreed with that statement. They had worked in partnership for years, each taking their position, the result greater than the sum of the parts. "...I couldn't get past the death of my son." Jim never admitted to personal failings.

"I was prejudiced by her accomplishments as a Vulcan," Spock admitted. He had not wanted to see what the evidence had indicated. Had not believed she was guilty until the evidence was irrefutable.

"Gorkon had to die before I understood how prejudiced I was," admitted Jim.

Spock relaxed his fingers from the meditative pose and spun around to a seated position. "Is it possible ...that we two, you and I, have grown so old and so inflexible ...that we have outlived our usefulness? ...Would that constitute a joke?" Would he still have Gillian if he were able to be more flexible?

"Don't crucify yourself. It wasn't your fault."

"I was responsible." He was not the Captain Jim was.

"For no actions but your own" Jim pushed off from the pillar and walked towards him.

"That is not what you said at your trial."

He could see emotion run over Jim's face as he altered the facts to suit his point. "That was as Captain of a ship. Human beings..."

"But Captain, we both know that I am not human." He had lived among humans for many years but there were still many things about them he did not comprehend.

"Do you want to know something? ...Everybody's human."

"I find that remark ...insulting."

"Come on, I need you." Jim jerked his head and Spock stood, folding away his torn robe and putting his jacket back on. All was not lost. Their position had improved from as recently as yesterday. He would deal with Gillian when the crisis was over. He pushed his emotions to the back of his mind, locking them where they would have no effect. There was work to do.


	43. Chapter 43 Succcessive Choir Of Friends

He let Spock leave while he gave the orders. He knew how unpleasant Spock had found the mind meld. It had been necessary and Spock would deny until the end of time that he had suffered any trauma from it. He would let him sulk, oops, meditate for a while and find time to get himself in order. A shower, a shave and a nap would be necessary if he was to be in top form.

The 'Enterprise' slowed to impulse power near Camp Khitomer. They weren't within beaming range and Uhura had been unable to re-establish communications. He had set her to scan for the enemy ship. Valeris didn't know the identity of the confederate who was doing the blocking. She had called them others during the mind meld.

"Uhura?"

"Nothing, Captain. If she's here, she's rigged for silent running."

They were so close to transporter range, 44 seconds when he heard Chang's voice. "I can see you Kirk."

Nothing showed on the view screen. Chang must have the codes to get past the communications block.

"Can you see me?" Chang taunted.

"Oh now, be honest, Captain. Warrior to warrior... You do prefer it this way, don't you? As it was meant to be. ...No peace in our time. 'Once more unto the breach, dear friends.'"

Chang snarled something in Klingon. "Fire" if the wrenching blow of a torpedo to the front of the ship was any indication. The veterans clung to support posts and kept upright while the newer crew members fell to the floor. He ignored McCoy's sarcastic "This is fun" and ordered a retreat. Red alert sounded through the ship. They couldn't transport now, the failure of the inertial dampeners was a foretaste of what would happen in the transporter room.

"What's she waiting for?" he asked. Spock spun his chair to face him. "Probably trying to ascertain why we are reversing, wondering whether we detect her."

"Incoming," warned Chekov and they braced for impact. The ship shuddered but Jim remained standing. Chekov sent off return fire but the phaser fire passed unhindered through space.

If they turned towards Khitomer, they would draw fire again. If they waited, the assassination would continue. The bridge shook with another impact, from the rear of the ship this time and the lights died. A section of the ceiling collapsed and wires dangled, spraying sparks. Smoke filled the air but the scrubbers didn't activate. "Go to auxiliary power!" he yelled.

Above the crackle of electrical sparks, Spock responded, "Auxiliary circuits destroyed, Captain."

Chang was spouting Shakespeare again. Ugh. It was not Klingon, it might resemble a Klingon tale of treachery and betrayal but that was it. Anything else was annoying cultural posturing.

"'Tickle us, do we not laugh? Prick us, do we not bleed? Wrong us, shall we not revenge?'

Spock paused, his hand on the railing. "Gas. ...Gas, Captain. Under impulse power she expends fuel like any other vessel. We call it 'plasma' but whatever the Klingon designation is, it is merely ionised gas."

"Well, what about all that equipment we're carrying to catalogue gaseous anomalies?" suggested Uhura, leaning over the opposite railing. At Jim's surprised look, she continued "...Well, the thing's got to have a tail pipe.

Spock turned to McCoy, "Doctor, would you care to assist me in performing surgery on a torpedo?"

With a "Fascinating!" from McCoy, the two left for the torpedo bay.

A hit from the side sent the repair crews sprawling. "Hard to starboard!" Kirk yelled over the alarms. The smaller, faster Bird-Of-Prey kept firing. Phaser blasts came from all directions.

Over the intercom, Scotty called out "Captain! She's packing quite a wallop. Shields weakening."

"Captain, the 'Excelsior's her" called Uhura. Phaser fire streaked into view but not aimed at them.

"Excelsior's been hit!" Chekov confirmed.

Chang was shouting out with unrestrained glee. "'Our revels now are ended', Kirk!"

"'Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.'" He wouldn't be laughing soon.

"Bones, where's my torpedo?" Jim demanded.

Scotty's voice gave him the bad news "Shields collapsing!" Shit, hurry Spock.

The ship shook, and Jim landed painfully on the floor. Hull breach alarms sounded. Fear trickled through him. He hadn't read the casualty reports, he was too busy, but that had been a hard hit. Someone's career at Starfleet ended today because he wasn't good enough, wasn't fast enough.

"Hit to the Stateroom, Captain," called Uhura and the tension relaxed. "No one on shift while the Red alert in on," she clarified. His head ducked in a short nod. She always knew what he needed.

"'I am constant as the Northern Star.'" Chang again.

What was keeping Spock? He jabbed his finger at the chair controls. "Where's that damned torpedo."

McCoy's voice came back. "She's ready, Jim. ...Lock and load."

"Fire!" he yelled, fists clenched and watched the torpedo loop through space towards nothing as the sensors beeped faster. Chang must be able to see it. His "'To be, or not ...to be,'" was cut off by an explosion. The Bird-Of-Prey flickered into sight, before vanishing again.

Red light curled from the 'Excelsior', aiming towards the explosion.

"Fire!" he called again. Part of him did love the fight. A cloud of smoke formed, spewing flying debris as it became visible. Dispersing into unidentifiable chunks of metal.

They materialised in the back of the conference hall, the voice of the Federation President ringing in their ears. "...As you know time is of the essence. He motioned Scotty up the stairs and the remaining five of them raced forward into the hall, running down the aisle between the humans and Klingon sections, weapons drawn.

The seating was in sections, with the representatives sashed according to race. Flags representative of the planets lined the walls. At the commotion, they jumped to their feet, alert for their own safety.

"Out of the way!" Uhura yelled at the green sashed guards and she and McCoy pushed them back, clearing the way for him to get through. He yelled at the guards, who pulled back in recognition. He could hear the others behind him, yelling but tuned them out to focus on his goal. He pushed and bullied his way through to the front dais.

"Mister President! ...Mister President!" He leapt forward, shoulder slamming into the white haired man who was staring in sightless confusion. The red beam of the disruptor rang in his ears and the something exploded.

"Kirk, ...Enterprise," he identified himself.

Amid the general confusion, small pockets of organisation were visible. Hordes of Klingons gathered, forming a physical barrier around Azetbur. McCoy pulled out his phaser and put Ambassador Nanclus under guard. Cartwright's booming voice commanded "Arrest those men!"

"Arrest yourself," called back Spock, dragging Valeris into the room by the arm. Any hope that Valeris had lied dashed by the expression of guilt on his face. "We've got a full confession," McCoy gloated.

A crash of plexiglass from above and a screaming Klingon fell backwards through the plexiglass to crash lifeless on the ground. Jim threw himself over the President again, shielding his body with his own.

Everyone crowded around the body, obstructing his view while he narrated to the President. Kerla's deep voice was audible. "This is not Klingon blood." As was Sulu's response "Cartwright! Just a minute." When had Sulu arrived?

The C in C called out "It's Colonel West" and Kirk relaxed. That was all the major conspirators. He slid his hand under the President's shoulder and helped him to a standing position.

Azetbur forced her way out of the circle of bodyguards. "What's happened? What's the meaning of all of this?"

"It's about the future, Madam Chancellor. Some people think the future means the end of history." He guided the President to his podium. Silence had fallen and he took the opportunity to speak to her, knowing everyone was listening. "...But we haven't run out of history just yet. ...Your father called the future ...'the undiscovered country'. ...People can be very frightened of change." He was one of them.

He turned to face Azetbur who said, "You've restored my father's faith."

"And you've restored my son's," he assured her.

Applause slowly broke out in the conference hall. It started in the human section spreading through the Vulcans and reaching the Klingons, who, if their technique was any indication, didn't clap.

He stood, bathing in their praise for the last time while his friends gathered around him.

Accusations and procedures took the rest of the day and contained some disappointments. As much as he's relied on it, mental interrogation wasn't allowable in court. Valeris' word was and she co-operated to reduce her sentence. It was logical after all. A search of Cartwright's quarters turned up some juicy records of both him and West meeting with some of the underlings. Nothing about Nanclus though. If it had ever existed, proof of his involvement had vanished. They could not arrest him on the basis of a sneering innuendo West had made before his death. Depositions were taken, news exchanged and blissful sleep was obtained at last. Everything took forever, but Jim knew this was their last mission so he didn't fight it, just let everything take however long it took. Repairs were made to the 'Enterprise'. It was to be decommissioned but they had to get home first and relationships were a bit shaky with Romulus.

At last, but too soon, they were back together on the Bridge. On their way home to retirement.

"Once again we've saved civilisation, as we know it, he said, walking out of the lift onto the Bridge.

"And the good news is they're not going to prosecute," shot back McCoy and his lips twitched into a smile.

"They might as well have prosecuted me. I felt like Lieutenant Valeris," Nyota admitted, turning back to face him.

"Well, they don't arrest people for having feelings," McCoy assured her, with a pointed look at Spock.

"And it's a good thing too. If we did we'd all have to turn ourselves in," Chekov said in her defence.

Sulu appeared on the main screen, his main crew arrayed behind him. "Captain Kirk?"

"Captain Sulu! ...As much to the crew of the Enterprise, I owe you my thanks."

"Nice to see you in action one more time, Captain Kirk. Take care." Rub it in why don't you?

They watched as the 'Excelsior' moved off out of orbit. "My God, that's a big ship," said McCoy.

"Not so big as her Captain, I think," added Scotty.

"So ...this is goodbye," said Chekov, envy dancing in his eyes. He would be the next one to get a ship if Jim had to pull in every favour he still had.

He moved to sit in his chair. "I think it's about time we got underway ourselves."

"Captain, I have orders from Starfleet Command. We're to put back into Space dock immediately. ...to be decommissioned." It had come at last, the final goodbye. A pall of sadness fell over the Bridge, broken by Spock. "I were human, I believe my response would be 'Go to Hell!'" He swung around, was it a joke? "...If I were human," Spock added. He stared at Spock. To hell with it, Chekov could make Captain on his own merits.

"Course heading, Captain?"

Jim grinned, " Second star to the right, ...and straight on 'til morning." It was good to revisit the old classics.

Captain's log, U.S.S. Enterprise, stardate 9529.1. This is the final cruise of the Starship Enterprise under my command. This ship and her history will shortly become the care of another crew. To them and their posterity will we commit our future. They will continue the voyages we have begun and journey to all the undiscovered countries, boldly going where no man, where no one, ...has gone before.

**Author's Note: I love this movie but doing this did highlight all the plot holes. Hope I covered most of them a little.**


	44. Chapter 44 Listen For My Footfall

Spock watched the Earth rise into the view screen of the Enterprise. By rote, he monitored the figures which rushed across the screen. He was First Officer and it was his duty to oversee everything. The Fleet's finest staffed the ship, the odds of a problem were low but he checked the displays anyway. Doing so kept his mind busy. Kirk had taken the blame for the latest incident of ignored orders. He was retiring from active Captaincy, promoted again and reduced to the ceremonial duties he hated.

Spock had asked Jim to join him in his new diplomatic career. They would have few subordinates, a few lawyers and secretaries, but they would have no bosses either, just a mandate from the Federation to obtain peace or trade. Jim had performed diplomatic work before, it wasn't his favoured job but it was better than the 'paper pushing' he had performed after the first five year mission. They would have a small diplomatic courier ship and could travel to Qo'noS to further advance the peace process. After, there would be other worlds, but an alliance with the Klingons would be a major step in the direction of Galactic peace. It would be hard, meaningful work and it would keep him busy, too busy to think about his marriage, which had begun so joyously and ended in a hail of arguments and recriminations.

The ship docked and Spock involved himself in the unloading of the ship. Data had been flowing off for days of course, under the talented hands of Commander Uhura, but sensitive information was saved and the physical data cube handed over whenever possible, to reduce the risk of espionage. Most of the crew left as soon as they were packed and their jobs done and other Starfleet personnel came aboard. After a normal mission, there would be restocking and repairs, but not this time. Although the bridge crew's mission had been diplomatic, others on board the ship had taken the opportunity for trade and to take scientific samples and these had to be inspected and then shipped all over the planet. In lieu of a mission for their last trip, Jim had taken the opportunity to fill a lot of minor requests for samples and deliveries that had been unfilled for years due to their lack of relative importance. An easy run for the Enterprise's last mission, except for the tentacle monster which had attacked Chekov before ending up preserved in the cargo bay. A squad of Quarantine Inspectors arrived to scan all the luggage and samples before they were shuttled to the surface.

Jim, Mr Scott and Uhura stayed until the second day after docking when the decommissioning ceremony held on the bridge and the ship turned over to the salvage crew who would strip it of up-to-date components and study Mr Scott's modifications. Spock had delayed all he could. Although he had often disembarked on Earth to a lonely welcome, it felt unusual this time. It was interesting how quickly one could become accustomed to things.

Spock noticed the others still clustered near the shuttle's ramp instead of dispersing to their families or, in Kirk's case, girlfriends. He conjectured they were staying for emotional support for him. He would have preferred privacy.

He kept a brisk pace as he walked through the shuttle bay. If he kept moving, he might be able to keep the emotional scene to a minimum. Nyota intercepted him in the reception room, however, arms outstretched. He braced for a hug, but she took him by the arm and turned him to face the rows of waiting chairs he had passed.

It took a long moment for him to process what he was seeing. It was Gillian of course, her abdomen distended with pregnancy. It had been 102 days since the destruction of Praxis. She couldn't have been five months pregnant when he left. He stared until the lines of her form resolved themselves into two separate lumps and his mind raced through all the additional complications this added to the pregnancy. A hand to his back prodded him forward and he realised he was still staring, speechless and Jim had gotten impatient.

He walked towards her, eyes taking in every detail. Her face upturned towards him, a shaky smile which didn't extend to her wide open eyes, her hands guarding her abdomen, her long loose hair just touching her wrist. He could smell her perfume and lipstick too, a habit he found even more illogical since she'd had cosmetic facial tattoos done years ago.

As he approached to touching distance, he reached his hand forward in the ozh-esta and she touched her fingers to his. She relaxed and let the marital bond completely open for the first time since their argument. Her smile widened into genuine pleasure "You'd better hug me before I get too big to fit your arms around." Vulcans did not approve of such public displays of affection but he moved and placed his arms around her awkwardly, aware of the audience, particularly Nyota who he could hear sniffing. He could sense the two new katras, muffled by the layers of cloth, but unmistakable. They reacted to him, pummelling each other or Gillian as she laid her head on his chest.

"Whoa," exclaimed Jim. "I saw that. It was freaky." Gillian pulled away from him to address the interruption.

"The whole thing's a freak show," she said, rolling her eyes. "Attack of the purple vine creature and I'm under house arrest by the Fun Police. There goes my plan to work up to the day before I deliver." She pulled up her tunic and showed everyone her stretch marks, which did resemble purple vines creeping from beneath the band of the pants, narrowing to points at her navel. The arrival of a Vulcan Healer pushing a convalescent chair prevented Spock from commenting on this.

"Dr Taylor, you are on bed rest. I must insist you sit. You have been standing for 23.2 seconds." Gillian rolled her eyes again but submitted to sitting, to Spock's relief. The healer addressed Spock. "Dr Taylor is on complete bed rest, only getting up for necessary biological functions, no sex, no tight hugging, no orgasms, no overexcitement and no excessive laughter."

"It's true," stage whispered Jim to the others. "I thought they were a rumour but they do exist. And Gillian has fallen into their hands. Should we rescue her?" Mr Scott and Uhura chuckled at this, longer than Spock thought was necessary. They all sounded like sensible precautions to him. "She might be too slow to make a getaway," countered Nyota. "Perhaps we should let her get into better shape before we make her rappel down the side of the building." This brought on another round of laughter. Spock turned and shot them a quelling look, which was difficult, since they were so pleased for him.

They crowded in, then, offering congratulations and asking questions. Despite the personal healer, who had been provided by T'Pau, Gillian had not suffered any difficulties with the pregnancy, but had booked into full time medical care two weeks ago after her boss reduced her to desk work. She could read and dictate from a hospital bed (as long as she didn't become too excited) and was under continuous monitoring. "They found it quite disagreeable to explain to T'Pau why they didn't do anything when the routine scan showed the umbilical cord all but coiled around the baby's neck," mocked Gillian in a brittle voice. It was a common occurrence, seldom fatal, but that was no comfort.

Spock let the crush of people push him back. The radiating excitement was difficult to shield. He drew in several deep breaths and ran through the basic meditation exercises. He opened his eyes, to see Jim watching him with grinning interest.

"Did everyone know or just you?" Spock asked. He wasn't sure what answer he preferred. Being apart from Gillian had not been agreeable, but fear and worry had descended upon him since he had seen her.

"She didn't tell me, if that's what you are asking," Jim replied, his smile unwavering. "I went round to see her before we left and she was busy being sick. I guessed what was wrong."

Spock nodded. "I recall you were late boarding and had to beam up. You did not tell me."

"Gillian said not to. She thought it would spare you the stress. I couldn't argue with that. I told you to call her and make up." He had encouraged Spock to contact Gillian but Spock had been unable to. He had been afraid of what her answer would be. He hadn't been able to extinguish that last bit of hope.

"You have spoken to her since then?" Jim looked guilty. "Yeah, I kept her up to date on how you were doing. I didn't tell anyone else. If Scotty knew, Gillian told him. "

He added as an afterthought, "Your parents know, Gillian says they visit."

The steady medical beeps kept up a continual soothing background noise. It was an advantage of being in a Vulcan hospital, sounds were muffled, not the piercing shrieks of the alarms humans used. Spock opened his eyes, watching Gillian wake from her nap from the padded visitor's bench. The hospital bed was a narrow single person bunk but a thick cabled coverlet topped it. Not one he remembered, it must be new. A shelf bordered the bank of medical machinery to the left. It kept close track on Gillian's physical status, the lights flickering with every change, no matter how small. The constant monitoring soothed his worry, enabling him to achieve a deep state of meditation. He had waited while she slept, considering the arguments he could make, arranging and rearranging them to make them seem more substantial. "I would like to discuss the subject you mentioned."

Gillian took a deep breath and turned her face toward him. "Have you read the medical records?" she asked, lacing her fingers through each other.

"I have. While you were sleeping," he replied. "I wish to discuss the possibility of terminating…"

"No." Her tone of voice was flat and her jaw set as it had been during their last argument.

"You said we could discuss the matter." He folded his hands in his lap.

'There will be no discussion. There will be no termination. The odds are good enough."

"You could raise it to ninety nine point nine seven…."

"No." The word flat and determined.

"Why did you bring up the subject if not for discussion?"

"I thought you should know. The decision is made." Gillian turned from him causing rage to leap up, overcoming the pervasive fear. Fuming, he stood and walked to the bedside.

"You are behaving in an illogical manner," he achieved stern, which was better than begging.

"We have a sixty eight per cent chance of going home with two babies. Two is twice as good as one. I know you are scared..." she pleaded with him.

"I am not scared." Gillian stared at him, eyebrow raised. "I would like for us to have a child and the best statistical chance is to terminate the second foetus. The pregnancy would be completed in nine months, not ten and the stress on you would be relieved." He strove to keep his voice even through the stress. She must see reason, she must. He could not lose her now, not after all he had been though. A child would be a desirable outcome, but most of all, she must live.

"James," she said in an absent voice, although she clenched and unclenched her hands while talking. He cast a quizzical glance in her direction, although he thought he knew what she meant. "You weren't here, so I named the babies James and Serek. Your father helped me with names. We can discuss it, if you don't like them. And if you stop suggesting we kill James."

Spock was speechless. It should make no difference, assigning a name to the foetus, but it did. Not just the knowledge of Gillian's love for the child but the simple act of naming would affect him so. Looking into her pleading blue eyes, he was undone, reduced to his most basic plea. "Whatever happens, don't die on me. I can withstand anything else." He gathered her into his arms, a pleasure he had thought she would never allow him again and lay his cheek against her hair.


	45. Chapter 45 Alice Through A Looking Glass

The blond woman who appeared on the transporter pad wasn't the Asian Ensign who'd gone to pick up the delegate from the planet below. The delegate was on the next pad, short, squat and grey skinned. He looked surprised, as far as Kirk could ascertain but he did not comment he was in no position to criticise. He stepped off the raised platform and genuflected to Kirk, who stood smirking at the head of a small crowd of his officers.

Kirk lounged against the wall while he received the official surrender and Uhura read out the terms. They were harsh; the aliens had not achieved interstellar space travel and had no chance against the might of the Empire. It was a formality but Kirk enjoyed watching as they capitulated. Even so, he did not betray his surprise at the unexpected turn of events. Showing weakness in front of an enemy, even a weak one, was not a wise course of action. Kirk assessed the woman on the transporter pad. She was plump but pretty and blond with an air of vulnerability enhanced by the loose clothing she wore. He assumed it to be an act, a second glance showed her gaze to be sharp and assessing. She was startled but not terrified to be aboard the ISS Enterprise. He couldn't turn to see all the other officers but used his peripheral vision to check on Sulu and Mr Scott, trying to determine whose scheme this was.

An Ensign took the delegate on a tour of the ship. It would further impress the might of the Empire upon him and also make it clear he had been insulted by signing in the transporter room not one of the luxurious state rooms available for worthy enemies. At his exit, Kirk's lazy posture straightened and he marched across the small room to confront the intruder. Unexpected plotting made everyone nervous and on edge.

"I am Captain James T. Kirk of the ISS Enterprise and I demand to know who you are and what you are doing here. It is an offense to board a ship of the Imperial fleet without permission." Kirk stepped up onto the pad so he could loom over the woman but he was careful not to put any part of his body on the transport pads. The woman looked up at him, a slight smile playing around her lips.

"I know who you are. I am Dr Gillian Taylor and I'd like to file a complaint. Someone aboard this ship kidnapped me and I demand you investigate and find the culprit. I'd also like you to return me to my place of origin as soon as possible. Otherwise, you can take me to Vulcan." She arched an eyebrow at him in a way that reminded him of someone and squeezed past him.

"Mr Spock, in the meantime, can get me something to eat. I was on my way to lunch at the Vulcan Embassy and I'm starving." She took slow careful steps across the room stopping close to his First Officer and smiled at him in sympathy. "I know. It's a shock. You have perhaps heard of the theory of parallel universes. It's not just a theory anymore." She motioned with her hands for him to turn towards the door. "I'm not kidding about being hungry. I'd kill for a ham sandwich. Can we talk and eat at the same time?"

"You claim to be from a parallel universe?" demanded Kirk, jumping down to the floor and stalking across the room. She turned to face him. "Yes. And in my universe I am married to Spock." Chapel made an angry noise at this statement. "You, but you're boring and fat," she sneered, smoothing her hands over her short skirt in invitation as she spoke. Spock ignored her, his attention on the new arrival.

Gillian gave her an odd look, part amusement, part horror but turned back to speak to Spock. "If I go into labour, don't let her near me." This produced a short round of mocking laughter from most of the crew and a red flush to rise in the nurse's face. A closer look showed the chubbiness to be late pregnancy which accounted for the waddle. Not one of those women who looked normal except for the belly.

Jim gave Spock a sharp look as a request for information and he gave it. "She is pregnant with my child but I have never seen this woman before in my life,' he admitted.

"Not yours," corrected the woman in a lecturing tone. "My Spock's baby, but I guess it feels the same to you."

'You can tell that?" asked Kirk, interested. Spock was stingy with information about Vulcan's psychic and physical abilities. Kirk didn't blame him, information was power.

"Yes, all Vulcans can," Spock admitted. The left bodyguard, Torel nodded confirmation. The gesture gained him Gillian's attentionl. In badly accented, but word perfect Vulcanur, she asked, "May I ask your bloodline, kinsman." Kirk frowned. He forbade languages other than Basic on the ship but listened to the Universal translation as Torel recited his ancestry. Gillian nodded in interest "I have not met you in my universe but I know your grandmother T'Danel, she is an Adept of Gol, you have the look of her. It is possible you were not born in my universe as T'Danel had her marriage dissolved when she entered the priesthood and her husband married again."

"She planned to enter the priesthood," Torel replied, interested. "Her mother denied her request when her older sister was killed."

"Enough of the family reunion," interrupted Kirk. "She could be making this up and we have no way of checking. Mr Scott, check what happened with the transporter…" He turned to see him already prising off the front panel of the control panel muttering "These results aren't possible under normal conditions, someone must have sabotaged it." Kirk's lips twitched, the Engineer was good value, he would have to assign him another bodyguard and rotate his assistant. Until the idiot could match Mr Scott's skills, he didn't want him to get ambitious.

"… and send me the results when you have them." Kirk strode through the doorway and the crew followed after Spock and Dr Taylor. "Get back to the bridge and get to work, call me if anything comes up. Uhura, you have the conn."

The smaller crowd of Kirk, Gillian, Spock and four body guards assembled in one of the meeting rooms. The guards pressed against the walls, remaining silent. Gillian looked around her gaze taking in the trophies decorating the walls, emblems of societies crushed beneath the heel of the Empire. She sank into the leather covered couch, her top tucking in under the rounded bump, outlining it. Spock ordered tea and a ham sandwich from the replicator and ran his tricorder over it, before offering it to Gillian. She stared at him, unmoving until he placed the plate on the low table beside the couch. She picked it up and bit into it making moaning noises as she chewed. She was trusting.

"Mm mm, this is great. Thank you." She finished off the sandwich and licked her fingers clean. Spock hovered over her, his back to the door. So, he was attracted to his counterparts wife, Jim might be able to use that. Relaxed and happy, she appeared unaware of how much danger she was in.

Kirk balanced on the table across from her, leaning forward to discomfort her. "Do you have any proof of your story?" he demanded.

"Well I was beaming up to have lunch with Spock, not planning of a jaunt to a parallel universe. I have the baby and some pictures, that's all." She dug a long slim data crystal out of a pocket at her non-existent waist. Kirk reached forward and snatched it from her, triggering a surprised look. Why she would think she could produce an uninspected device in front of the captain, he wasn't sure. She didn't have the body language of a graduate of the Academy but Spock should have taught her something.

Spock caught it when Kirk tossed it to him, but before he could examine it, Gillian said with amusement "Picture 11". A three dimensional holographic picture appeared in front of him, of much higher quality than he had seen before. A background of blue sky identified Earth as the location of the picture. Tiles in the pattern of IDIC showed to the right but the two small children in Gillian's lap caught his attention. One was a small blonde version of Gillian, the other, Spock's face in miniature. He scrambled for something to say to cover his shock. "This was taken at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth?" It did not look like the embassy, but it was a logical conclusion. She nodded her response.

Spock ran the tricorder over the device, nodded to Kirk and fiddled with it for a few moments. When he produced no results, he pocketed it. "I will inspect it further later," he said in response to her Dr Taylor's annoyed "Hey"

"Yes, Spock works as a Federation Diplomat," she replied, piquing his curiosity. "What do I do, in your universe?" he asked.

"Captain the Enterprise, mostly," she answered, relaxing back into the couch, smoothing her tunic over the baby. "You were an admiral for a while but then there was this whole situation where you defied orders so it looked bad for a while, but then you repelled an attacker that disabled the rest of the fleet and approached close to Earth. With half the brass baying for your blood and the other half wanting to promote you, they settled on a demotion back to Captain. Most of the crew were in on it so they all took a step back too." Kirk smirked, it sounded like his alternate could work the system too. More than once they'd thought him down and out but he had come back strong.

"Why'd you settle for Spock?" he asked, in an attempt to annoy his First Officer. She'd be an attractive woman if she weren't pregnant. She blinked in surprise before answering. "I thought I did alright, he's the eldest son of an important man." Kirk frowned, Spock was a hybrid, born of Sarek's concubine Amanda and ranked well behind his four legitimate sons. Before he could organise his thoughts, Spock interrupted.

"Does Sybok not exist in your universe?" He moved to stand beside the couch as he spoke, sash swaying with the suddenness of his movement. Gillian shifted her body further away from him. "Yes, well he did, but he's not the heir." Kirk knew she was concealing something, her body language betrayed her. She wouldn't meet his eyes and she hunched her shoulders. Both men moved towards her, Spock reached out his hand and she squirmed back against the armrest, placing her feet on the cushions between them. This brought her head close to Kirk and he placed his hands on her head and squeezed until she whimpered. "Liar," he whispered into her ear, his breath disturbing the wisps of hair that had escaped from her braid.

Words rushed out of her in a pained voice. "I'm not, I swear. I'm just not supposed to talk about him because he no longer exists." Both Spock's eyebrows shot up at this, Sybok was Sarek's favoured son, heir to his name and position. "He was declared outcast and all records removed from the archives. They annulled Sarek's marriage to T'Rea also. It never existed and no one's supposed to mention it or him, ever." Kirk wondered how Amanda Grayson had achieved that. Perhaps her father had negotiated the coup that had resulted in his disgrace and death in this universe and helped her. Then again, why would she settle for an alien, she had been engaged to a powerful Admiral before her father's death? Unless Sarek had been involved in the plot and the price for his help was Amanda… It was irrelevant and the entrance of Dr McCoy, with Nurse Chapel in tow interrupted the thought. Jim relaxed his grip and let Gillian slip back into her seat, rubbing her hands over her scalp and scowling at him. McCoy ran a medical tricorder over the baby, confirming Dr Taylor's claims the baby was one quarter Vulcan. Chapel couldn't keep a sneer from her face when he read out the results, earning her a slap from McCoy which made Dr Taylor flinch more than the nurse.

Dr Taylor watched with an odd expression on her face, then, in a quiet voice, she said "You look much better with dark hair Christine." Surprise flicked over Christine's face at the statement, she must have assumed the two women were rivals there as well. Dr Taylor stood and slid her arms around the other woman's naked waist, her belly making the embrace awkward, murmuring into her ear. "Your counterpart was kind to me at a very low time in my life. I would like to return her favour to you. You look like you would appreciate kindness.

Nurse Chapel yanked on Gillian's hair, making her yelp with pain. "Not from you," she hissed and stormed out, McCoy following her. Sadness clouded Gillian's face, but she sank into the couch again without comment, curling her arms around her body. Spock scanned the results. Kirk gave them a cursory glance, returning to his questioning. 'You have no idea how you got here?" For most people, torture would be the next step but even the Empire balked at its use on pregnant women. He toyed with the idea of letting Spock probe her mind but thought the risk of them joining forces was too great. Spock was hovering, not letting Kirk get closer to her than he was.

"No. I only understand the basics of transporter technology. There has been a case of inter dimensional travel before when there was some sort of interference during the transportation. That was a swap, though, with the same people from each universe changing places. Not this time, though, I guess, since no one seems to know me."

His memory prompted, Kirk contacted Uhura to determine the status of the missing Ensign. Uhura told him she was still on the planet and had contacted the ship requesting pickup. She had to wait as Mr Scott had the transporter network offline while he worked on the problem.

"What caused it?" Kirk demanded of Dr Taylor, standing in front of her, scowling down.

"I don't know, the holovids called it an ion storm but they often obscure vital details for security purposes." She shrugged, disinterested.

"What do you know?" Kirk asked. She raised her eyebrow again and this time Kirk recognised it as Spock's mannerism.

"You said you were a Doctor, of what?" He stalked forward and was amused to see Spock change position as well, matching his distance from her.

"Cetacean Biology, Genetics and Hybridisation," she said. "Before I went on maternity leave I worked at the Cetacean Institute. We are extracting DNA from tissue samples of deceased individuals and using them to increase the genetic diversity of the whale population. I met Spock when he attended a lecture I gave." He could sense, more than see Spock perk up at her qualifications. For some reason, Spock liked intelligence in his women.

"What happened to the whales?" asked Kirk.

"Overhunting," she replied, surprise flickering over her face. 'Aren't they endangered here?" He shook his head. World War Three had put more important things on people's minds than shampoo.

"You performed the hybridisation research?" Spock interrupted. She smiled at him and nodded. "Yes. I did a doctoral thesis on Human/Vulcan hybridisation. You've seen the results. Spock had tried three times with his wife T'Para but they were unsuccessful."

"What were the results they obtained?" Spock demanded. Kirk knew he had tried to have a child with Dr Elizabeth Dehner after his lack of success with the Vulcan priestess. Elizabeth had died from complications of the hybrid pregnancy.

"Death occurred at three months and two weeks postpartum. The second one was after an early induction in an attempt to arrest the build-up of toxins in the bloodstream by blood filtering. Plus a miscarriage at six weeks," she answered, patting her own belly with absent protectiveness.

"I will provide protection for you in return for the information contained in your doctoral thesis," Spock said. Kirk was annoyed. Spock was acting as if he wasn't in the room when Gillian was his captive.

"I have a photographic memory. You can have an exact copy. For protection and 100,000 credits," she shot back without hesitation.

"It is a deal. You can work in my room," Spock said, but she shook her head. "I don't think so. I'll stay on the Bridge." Kirk grinned. She wasn't as green as she looked; by turning to Spock for protection she'd concentrated her troubles into one source. He adjourned the meeting and let them go on ahead trailing bodyguards while he communicated the information he had gained to Mr Scott.

By the time he reached the Bridge, Gillian was settling into a work station on the opposite side of the Bridge from Spock. Flicking through the screen with confident movements, she projected a QWERTY screen onto the touch sensitive surface and twisted the screen to a horizontal position, transforming it to an old fashioned keyboard. It was an interesting quirk which would allow her to enter data without anyone seeing, he wasn't sure what it meant but he filed it away for later.

He moved to stand behind her, ignoring her grimace and noticed she had skipped straight to the Methodology section. She must be expecting rescue soon, if she thought she wouldn't have time to finish. He was unsurprised when Spock moved to stand beside him. A lock of Gillian's hair fell forwards across her face and Spock moved to brush it away. She spun the chair to avoid him and faced them both. "May I help you?" she asked. "I can't type with you behind me. You're giving me the creeps." Kirk rubbed his hands over her shoulders, massaging them. "Yes, Spock, give the lady some space," and watched until Spock crossed back over the room. Then, with a final pat, he left her to type. The crew cast curious glance in her direction, but no one commented as he gave the order to leave orbit.

He ordered Romulan ale and settled in for the show. Should he help or hinder Spock's pursuit of the doctor? He leant towards helping and extracting a price for his help. His alliance with Spock was valuable, of all Starfleet captains he had to worry the least over backstabbing by his First Officer, otherwise the person most likely. Keeping Dr Taylor from him might in fact trigger a coup. Of course, she seemed to be expecting rescue by her husband, who might be prepared to pay more for the safe return of his wife and offspring. And he'd be able to pass it off as a case of mistaken identity, especially if he could locate this universe's version of her and draft her into Starfleet where she'd be under his command. He typed her name and qualifications into the search field of his PADD and flicked through the pictures. None matched, or were close. He deleted cetacean biologist from the search terms but drew thousands of results. He selected a picture from the security feed and ran facial recognition software and settled in to wait. The bridge resumed the subdued buzz of routine as the hours fled by.

Kirk turned to Uhura as she spoke "Captain, Mr Scott has a message…" He caught a flicker from the corner of his eye and turned to see Gillian run from the room at a faster speed than her gentle waddling had made him believe she was capable of "… for you. There has been an unauthorised use of the transporter." Spock turned to face Uhura and noticed Gillian's absence, rising and setting off at a rapid walk. Kirk hadn't decided which outcome would suit him best in the upcoming conflict but he followed the two, he wanted to be there for the showdown. He'd read McCoy's expanded report and thought he knew the identity of the intruder.

The guard stepped forward to block Spock's path to the transporter room, his outstretched arm sporting a triangular full power agoniser burn. Kirk waited a moment before motioning his head to allow passage. It was good to remind Spock who was Captain of this ship.

He let Spock enter first and heard the whine of a phaser. He threw himself to the side as he entered, avoiding Spock's prone body. Mr Scott stood behind the control panel, arms up in surrender and held captive by, of all people, Nyota Uhura, albeit a heavier set woman than the one he had just left on the Bridge. It looked good on her though, she must be doing well in the other universe. Kirk was intrigued. It was one thing to hear about, another to see in the flesh. Gillian mounted the transporter pad and ducked behind the second new figure. It took a moment for Kirk to process the scene in front of him. The second, robe clad figure was tall and slender with pointed ears. Gillian's left arm appeared and a small piece of metal skittered across the floor. She curled her arm and touched fingers with the other Spock's.

'Are you well, my wife," he asked in his distinctive voice

"I'm fine," she replied. "I just want to go home."

"Mr Scott," he asked.

"Coming right up, lad," the other Mr Scott answered, pressing numbers in the square device he held in front of him.

A sharp pain to the back of his head reminded him he had not checked the room when he entered. When he regained consciousness, Spock still lay on the floor, but a check showed he had been stunned, not killed.

Kirk ordered Nurse Chapel to the bridge and requested her agoniser. Terrified, she admitted to losing it and ordering a replacement from stores, which hadn't come yet. He opened his hand, showing her the object Gillian had thrown at him. "Dr Taylor used this to escape from custody." Her face whitened but she said nothing. She was probably innocent, but he used the agoniser for several minutes as an example to the crew. Afterwards, she lay on the floor white faced and shaking, unable to leave until given permission. His smile stretched further, it was good to be captain.

"Has Dr Taylor left this universe?" asked Uhura as his interest began to wane.

"Indeed," said Spock.

"She entered a legal Will with instructions for it to be enacted if she either dies or leaves the Universe." Uhura's face was a calm mask. She was the Communications Officer and would have read the document but had no intention of revealing its contents unless Kirk ordered her, thus triggering an obligation on his part, or someone bribed her. He thought it would neither benefit nor hurt him, so he punched in the code for deceased. Uhura made pretence of reading the contents and announced. "It's simple enough. Christine Chapel is her sole beneficiary. She gets both the 100,000 credits owed to Dr Taylor by Mr Spock and a memory storage device, also in Mr Spock's possession.

Kirk tried not to laugh. Spock inclined his head and said "I will transfer the credits to you now, Nurse Chapel," and moved to his console. Once the transfer was complete, Uhura said, "and as for your part of the deal, the information you bought." She handed Spock a memory stick, standard Empire issue like the one he had seen Dr Taylor using earlier. Well, she was quite the little schemer, wasn't she? He never had gotten around to searching her.

With everything settled, he accessed the ship's data base which had some interesting results for him regarding Dr Taylor, Cetacean biologist.


	46. Chapter 46 Confronting Fears

Spock's face was impassive. It had been for weeks ever since his slip up in the shuttle bay when he had let his joy and relief show through. At times in his life he had abandoned the Way of Enlightenment and let his emotions be both present and visible but this was not one of those times. He had spent all his available time meditating himself into a serene state. He hadn't slept since his arrival back on Earth. Sleep relaxed his mind, allowing dreams to torment him. He substituted meditation instead. He needed, more than anything to be in a calm and relaxed state for the ordeal that lay ahead.

He hadn't quite achieved it, but he had managed to look the part. His emotional disturbance would not be visible to anyone, nor was his katra detectable by the psychic powers of other Vulcans. Taking firm hold of the turbulent mass of emotion he had not been able to reason away, he thrust it to back, sealing it from the active part of his mind. It was a problem for another day. Now he had to ensure the smooth running of today's task. Without the amount of authority that he could wish for, if simply wishing for something without taking action was a logical thing to do.

Jim entered the apartment, heralded by the chime. "Ready?" he asked with a crooked grin. Spock nodded and turned from the windows overlooking the Bay. The two men fell into walking side by side down the long straight corridors, Jim's presence comforting to him in an inexplicable way, despite the battering of emotions against his mental shields. Others, mostly Vulcans passed them, involved in their own business.

At last, they reached the waiting room where Sarek and Amanda were seated. Sarek, calm and reflective, Amanda nearly bouncing off the walls with excitement despite wearing the robes of a Vulcan High Lady. A thin young man, one of T'Pau's junior aides stood watch on the opposite side of the room. He appeared to be working at one of the medical terminals, but there was no reason for him to be here instead of in the rooms T'Pau occupied when she was in residence. It was rare for T'Pau to leave Vulcan and she had been on Earth last year. She had some interest in the events of today. His mother leapt up to squeeze his hands and sat down again quickly after a stern look from his father. Braced, as far as he had been able to manage, Spock entered the next room behind Jim.

The operating theatre had been prepared for its role as a delivery room. A waist high bed stood centrally flanked on both sides by clear walled cribs with a second square operating table to one side. Surgical implements were arrayed on the table to the front. A team of four Vulcan doctors and an equal number of nurses crowded to one end of the bed. Quiet excitement was evident in their conversation, to one familiar with Vulcans. Tall, poker faced and with pointed ears, their pale beige robes like a uniform, they contrasted with the rooms other occupants, the rowdy and disparate group clustered near the patient's head. Ranging from the short tousled blonde Dr Marcus to the excitable dark haired Dr McCoy. And now Jim and himself, of course. Robed in taupe robes edged with russet symbols representing fatherhood and family, he stood out amongst the humans as he would have stood out among the Vulcan medical staff.

It was not customary for Vulcan fathers to attend the birth of their children. They were of no help, so their presence was not logical. Gillian had argued for his presence, he had missed the conception, after all. She was prepared to take the risk of being attacked by a roaming le-matya without his traditional protection. Nor would the presence of most of the humans present be suggested. The humans did not seem to mind, they were chatting excitedly amongst themselves. Jim had snagged a chair from somewhere and placed it near the head of the bed for Carol to sit on. Christine and McCoy were going over the details of Gillian's condition, as they had all morning. When to perform the laparotomy/hysterotomy had been a matter of fierce but restrained debate for over a week. The rate of growth of one child was slowing, the uterus becoming an unhealthy environment for him. The other child had just reached a viable size. Caught between their competing needs, Gillian's swollen uterus had reached its limits and wanted to expel the babies. A drip fed labour-reducing drugs into her bloodstream via her hand. She was forty one weeks and her body was showing the strain of the extended dual pregnancy.

Gillian was not well. She was puffy and pale from the side effects of the drugs. She couldn't sleep and was constantly nauseous. He wanted the pregnancy over before the effects on her health became permanent. Her life span would be shorter than his as it was, any damage would lengthen the time he would spend alone even more. They would have Serek and could put the business of pregnancy behind them. It was more than he had hoped for.

Throughout his often lonely childhood, he had often wished for a sibling, even after Sarek had disclosed his parents' unsuccessful attempts. Now, his sympathies were with his father, who had been content with the one child. He had prepared himself for the death of the second baby, spending hours detaching himself emotionally. A feat that was difficult enough with only his own emotions, the pressure of everyone else's made it worse.

The green light of the radiation beam swept over the room on its final journey. The room had been cleared of micro-organisms and the operation could begin. Gillian settled down on the bed, slipping her puffy white fingers into Leonard's and the junior nurse put up the privacy barrier, blocking Gillian's view of the surgery. The surgeons gathered around the bed, blocking Spock's view. On the wall, the screen showed an ultrasonic view of what was happening. The image was flooded with light as the cut was made and the surgeon's hand appeared onscreen, fingers cradling the head before both baby and hand disappeared from view. Nausea rushed through Spock and he made the necessary adjustments to his bio controls. There was little change. He dropped the level of the bond between himself and Gillian and it eased. She needed his support. He could not block her completely.

Jim detached himself from the crowd, stepping back, his face pale, his hands shaking. He sucked great breaths of air into his lungs. Spock's concentration wavered, he swayed and felt light headed. He hadn't thought to bring another chair but Jim looked like he needed to sit down. Spock couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen but stepped towards Dr Marcus who stood as if in response to his unspoken request for her chair. The doctors were conversing. Physical examination had confirmed what the scans had told them. The placentas had grown together and entwined to a level which made separation unadvisable. The second, smaller baby vanished from the view screen, replaced by a surgical laser as the doctor attempted to separate one placenta from the wall of the uterus and leave the other intact enough to function. If it worked, they would return the baby and seal the operation site, allowing the pregnancy to continue as long as possible. Spock was not in favour of this procedure, considering the risk of injury to Gillian too high. She was already at the limit of human pregnancy. Spock grabbed the chair and walked backwards, there were three more steps before he reached Jim's position. He took them and placed the chair on the floor, leaning against the back.

A high pitched wail tore over the low murmurs of adult speech. Christine moved back, allowing Spock a glimpse of the black fluffy hair and pointed ears of the child placed on Gillian's chest. It was pale and clean, the nurse would have run the sonic wand over him after the medical scan was completed. Gillian pressed gentle kisses to the fat little cheeks, cooing in delight. Tears streamed down her face and her bottom lip quivered. Spock was so overcome with emotion he could hardly stand. Joy and terror washed over him in competing waves. His, Gillian's, Jim's and Leonard's emotions, all combining and feeding off each other in a massive feedback loop.

The smooth cool wall pressed against Spock's back. He lent against it, grateful for the support. A dull thud beside him drew his attention. Jim Kirk lay face down on the floor, eyes shut.

"He did the same thing when David was born," commented Carol with a roll of her eyes. "I thought you'd catch him this time, though." She walked across the room, pulling at her jacket sleeves and rolled Jim onto his back, tucking her rolled up jacket under his head. The dizziness receded and Spock took two deep shuddering breaths. The black covering his vision retreated. McCoy had his arm outstretched, taking photos of himself crouched down next to Gillian, baby cradled in her arms.

"Beautiful. You did well," he said, checking the image, then extending his arm and taking another picture from a different angle. "He's extremely cute, he must take after you," despite that the fact that this was a blatant untruth.

"If you were a decent t'hy'la…" said Gillian, dragging her attention from the baby to smile at McCoy "…you'd be on the floor too."

"I'm a doctor, not a complete idiot," McCoy groused. "I am not fainting at a childbirth."

"Yeah, but how are they going to claim the bond had an unfortunate effect on them if you're up and walking about," she said, laughter in her voice.

"Not my problem," McCoy said, his voice firm. "Anyway, as far as I can determine, I am like your Vice-husband right? It's my job to take over your husband's duties if he's incapacitated. So I am." He smoothed back a lock of Gillian's hair and took another picture. "Now, just you and the baby," he stood and angled the camera again. No one mentioned the operation taking place in the room. Spock couldn't see the screen from this angle, but it did not seem to be going well. As if in answer to his question, half the doctors straightened and left the operating table, clustering around a second table set up with different instruments. Christine followed, watching but staying out of the way. Droplets of green blood formed a trail across the floor. The rounded edges of the drops grew fuzzy as the cleaners worked away at them. They were definitely droplets, not spray. No heart had pushed them across the floor, despite the surgical repair of two weeks earlier. The doctor attending to Gillian dropped a mass of flesh onto the tray beside the bed and the nurses moved to suction the operation site. Green blood was splattered across the operating table and the copper would be detrimental to Gillian's health. Satisfied with the cleanliness of the wound, the doctor moved to repair the abdominal incisions.

Spock knees ran through a low level meditation chant and pushed himself upright. By the time he reached Gillian, Carol had angled the head of the bed up and was smoothing the sheet down over the operation site. Still smirking, McCoy took several more pictures without comment.

Spock looked at his son. A standard monitoring bracelet on the baby's chubby wrist confirmed his identity and recorded a few vital signs in the main computer. Exactly the same treatment as a human or Vulcan child would receive. Despite appearances, the boy was more human than Vulcan. A longer life span and more than human but less than Vulcan strength were the main differences. He would have low, if any psi powers in exchange for not suffering the fires of pon farr. The two were linked at a genetic level. He placed his arm around Gillian and drew close to her, blinking as McCoy took another picture. His fingers touched the chubby baby arm and felt the clear unblemished mind of his son for the first time since his arrival back on Earth.


	47. Chapter 47 Tuesday

Christine walked her hands backwards, pulling out of the yoga stretch. She lifted her head and smiled at her husband, who was mirroring her position, receiving his smile in return. His white teeth flashed against the darkness of his skin. The thud of Elaine's gear bag hitting the bench broke the moment. "Are you finished yet? I don't want to be late." The girl tossed her short hair to emphasize her point. Tall and slender, she was dressed in the shorts and shirt of a soccer uniform. Her team had made the regional playoffs and the coach had ordered extra practice before school.

"We won't be late," Jeffrey said, ruffling Elaine's hair as he walked past her to the shower, bare feet padding on the mat. Jeffrey had been the one to suggest having a baby, but she had been so enthralled by the little person they had made that she had a second one. She and Jeffrey had worked week about ever since her maternity leave. Now that the children were older and in school, she often worked on private research on her time off but she had other plans for today. She showered and slid a flowing yellow skirt and matching top over her swimsuit, dropping her workout clothes into the recycler.

Elaine shadowed her from the rec room to their cluttered homey apartment, dancing with impatience and overflowing with commentary about how long everything was taking. Christine watched the news over breakfast, there was nothing of any interest to her, but then it still hadn't been reported that Starfleet's most famous Captain had stolen the Flagship and taken it on a joy ride for six weeks so that wasn't surprising. Fuzzy Spock wound himself around her ankles while she checked her messages but bolted before she could pet him. Janice had named the cat, citing the remarkable resemblance, black hair, pointy ears and snooty attitude. She sent off a quick clarification to her alternate and gathered her parcels together. After a last minute check that they all had everything they needed, the four of them took the cable car to the school to watch, or participate in the practice. She watched the girl run over the field with a mixture of pleasure and amazement.

To avoid commentary, they waited for the children to lope off from the sportsground to classes. There was no line for credit but she breezed past the scanner. She had always hated seeing everything on the list. Standing beside the cable car stop, Jeffrey kissed her and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Goodbye beautiful," he whispered before they took separate transport, him to work, her to the park near the Vulcan Embassy, after a quick stop at Harrisons.

The path wound through an avenue of overhanging trees. Birds flitted through the air, their song blending with the rustle of leaves in the soft wind. Wildflowers bloomed in casual looking formations to the side, a pretty, harmless sampling of Earth culture that attracted many alien visitors. The crowd was thin today, the cool breeze discouraging Vulcans.

"Christine," called Gillian from the park bench, surprising her. She hadn't thought that Gillian would escape Spock's clutches so soon. She should have known better. Gillian gave in to a lot of Spock's nagging, but she put her foot down when she wanted to.

Looking at Gillian's red flushed face, Christine unslung the tricorder and waved it over her. She didn't expect to see anything other than elevated lactic acid levels and wasn't surprised. Bed rest wasn't conducive to keeping your fitness levels. Beneath the flowing robes, Gillian's legs were quivering a little with exertion after the walk through the park. Otherwise she looked much better, having lost much of the ill look she had sported for months. Even the lines marking the edges of her mouth and the circles under her eyes were an improvement over the puffy paleness she had sported. Christine uploaded the report to Spock, smiling to herself. An oval baby pod levitated beside the bench at waist height, the leash bracelet on Gillian's right wrist. Gillian hugged a blue blanket wrapped bundle to her chest.

"Don't want to miss a moment?" she teased, holding out her hands in wordless demand as the tricorder bumped against her hip. Spock had programmed a mentally stimulating display to broadcast on the ceiling of the pod but Gillian seemed to dislike leaving a waking baby confined.

"He likes being in the open," said Gillian, tucking the blanket around his head before stepping back. With an active parental bond, she would know. Christine smiled, Gillian's bond was fully activated and Spock's wasn't and Gillian's description of why had confirmed something Christine had suspected for a long time. Although Spock was whatever-Vulcans-were-instead-of-pleased over fatherhood, he did not yet love the child. Not uncommon among fathers, it could take a few months before the baby became more interactive and the bond should form then.

She took the baby from Gillian with practiced hands. Serek threw to his father's side. He was small and but also thin of build with the sallow complexion that read as not well to human eyes. Pointed ears were visible beneath a coating of fluffy straight black hair. His eyes, though newborn blue, were a dark shade indicative of the brown hue they would take on later. Everything about him was delicate and fine.

She snuggled his fluffy hair onto her cheek and gave him a gentle squeeze, cooing over his cuteness for several minutes before they began their slow walk back to the entrance to the Embassy, shadowed by the floating pod. She noted with amusement the curious sideways slide of the eyes they got from several of the Vulcans they passed. No one spoke to them, though, although Gillian exchanged nods with a few she knew. They entered the embassy through a small side door near the ocean that led to the pool area and walked a short way down the undecorated corridor to the apartment. Vibrations from the mat in the floor inside the door cleaned off any dirt accumulated on her feet in the walk up the corridor since she's passed the one at the entry to the building.

She slipped off her wrap and hung it on a hook in the square entryway formed by the walls of the bedroom and the office, the room was warm. Orchids were mounted high on the walls, trailing fragrant blooms at eye level. One was new, Sulu must have visited. The entryway opened into the main living area. It used the standard design for rooms which faced the Bay, a line of windows that showed the view. The view was foreshortened, walls pulled into place to make another bedroom on the left, matching the placement of the kitchen on the right. A line of trees bordering the pool blocked the bottom half of the Bay views.

There was no extra charge for an apartment bordering on the pool area. While Vulcans liked their view of the Bay, none of them could think of a logical reason why they should immerse themselves fully in water. The pool therefore was left for their exclusive use. Individual chairs and a couch formed a casual grouping in the middle of the room. Two more table sections had been added to the normal one, making a long rectangular table at one end. Extra chairs were stacked against the kitchen wall. It was, of course, spotless and tidy. It would be interesting to see if Spock's obsessive compulsive ways were a match for toddlerhood.

She and Gillian had become much closer friends over past two years. She was quite pleased with that, although she tried not to be. She was long over her infantile and embarrassing crush on Spock and would be pleased if no one ever brought it up again but being friends with his wife came off a bit stalkerish and weird. She had had to get over him the hard way and she was irked when she thought about it. He had broken her heart with four words on the bridge of the 'Enterprise." "She is my wife." Shame and humiliation had poured off her in waves. It was not enough that she had embarrassed herself in front of the entire ship for years but he didn't care enough to let her down gently. Then afterwards, it got worse. At his father's suggestion, Spock had begun a quiet and purposeful search for a human wife. When Nyota had declined his request for a date, citing her friendship with Christine, he had dated a selection of women. All of them beautiful, all of them doctors, none of whom were illogical enough to touch a telepath while he was sick and vulnerable. She had cried herself to sleep over him so many times. To later find that once all hope was crushed and her vision cleared she was still there. Life and all its possibilities were there to be taken. Her education as a medical researcher, abandoned incomplete to chase after the faithless Roger, was picked up again. Her love life, on hold after mooning after emotionally distant men for more years than she cared to contemplate, had blossomed.

Even after all these years, there was still romance in her marriage. Jeffrey brought her flowers and small tokens of affection 'because I saw it and thought of you'. Had she been successful in her pursuit of Spock, the marriage would have been a kind of death for her. She would have wilted under the indifferent care under which Gillian flourished. She wasn't bothered by his very Vulcan ways and lack of emotional support. She'd been responsible for herself for so long, she didn't need it. Christine had taken compassionate leave and stayed with her every day until she went back to work. Gillian's response had been to worry about how Spock was coping.

Spock, according to Gillian, had told her he loved her twice in their whole relationship. Nyota had managed only once, when she was telling him it was over and he was trying to convince her otherwise. While he dutifully bought Gillian presents for all the occasions that were traditional for humans, Spock still did not seem to understand the concept behind them.

"Is everyone coming?" she asked, unslinging her tricorder and dropping it beside her carry bags on the couch while Gillian arranged Serek on a rug on the floor. Not the white fluffy alpaca rug that normally graced the centre of the room. That was missing in honour of the party tonight.

"Yes," Gillian said, slipping the leash control off her wrist and slapping it against the surface of the pod, which dropped to waist height. She pushed against the surface and it moved smoothly until it nudged the wall and stopped. "Hikaru's not leaving until tomorrow. Hopefully Chekov will get back in time. He went to the launch of the Enterprise-B with Jim and Scotty. They aren't back yet. There was some kind of distress call while and they had to go haring off to chase that." Of course they did. Some things never change. "The ship should be back in orbit soon. So, a couple of hours to debrief and he should be here. If not, I'll have to cook."

"You will not," Christine objected. "You will be resting and I will cook." Gillian had a bit of trouble with the reciprocal nature of friendship sometimes. She liked to keep the upper hand in all her relationships. Christine was determined to cure her of it. She'd become a nurse out of a desire to help people and the urge was still strong in her. She knelt on the rug beside the baby, letting his tiny fingers wrap around her larger one, then picking him up for a snuggle.

The door chimed and she opened it for a subdued Nyota, whom she greeted with a kiss on the cheek and Carol Marcus, whom she hugged. Carol's red shirted body guard had already taken up her post outside the door. Nyota held a bag of snacks which she showed off. "Fear not, I have brought nourishment. I assumed Spock was cooking." Although he never complained what his guests ate, Spock did not purchase or cook non-nutritious or non-vegetarian food and they had all learnt to bring snacks. The situation was a bit better now that he was married, if you could find the stasis unit before Jim raided it, but since Gillian had so recently left hospital there wouldn't be much to choose from. Carol hung the dress bag on a hook on the wall. Nyota's was be delivered later in the day.

"No, Jim's doing the catering as his present. Apparently I have a fully stocked kitchen now," said Gillian, causing a ripple of laughter to spread through the room. Jim's presents to Gillian were notorious. Over the course of the last few years birthday and Christmases he'd bought her every kitchen gadget and recipe book his heart desired. Opinion was divided as to whether he was deliberately jerking her chain by buying her anti-feminist presents, was completely self-centred and of the opinion that if he liked something everyone else would too or he didn't care and was just taking the opportunity to set up the kitchen the way he liked. Gillian had retaliated by buying him feminist literature and quizzing him about it afterwards. It might have worked if she hadn't baked him chocolate cheesecake topped with chocolate sauce and shaved chocolate from her birthday cookbook.

"I'm going to sing as mine," said Uhura, her lips curved in a wide smile.

"I just came to see what all the fuss was about," claimed Carol. Taking the hint, Christine handed over the baby for viewing and fuss making. Carol would have seen him on the hospital, but everyone had left the new parents alone for the first week. Well, them and Amanda, if she knew Spock's mother at all. She was surprised the woman wasn't here. Sarek must have gagged her and carried her off.

Noticing Carol's wistful look at the baby, Gillian suggested. "You could have another one of your own. I'll twist Jim's arm for you if he doesn't want to co-operate." Because Jim refusing Carol anything was so likely.

Carol shook her head. "No, just reminiscing. I'm too old to go through all that again. Besides, it's Nyota's turn."

Christine shot a quick glance Nyota's way when this failed to bring her usual immediate denial. She looked up and blushed. "Scotty dropped a few hints," she admitted. "I've never had the urge myself but it will be too late soon." The hormonal treatment they used for birth control slowed the aging of the ovum but there were limits and Nyota was reaching them. The subject had come up more than once over the years.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Christine said, her voice soft. She had never considered herself overly maternal. Thinking that women who gushed over their progeny had otherwise unsatisfying lives. Then her daughter was born and she gushed with the rest of them.

Gillian frowned. "It looks like I have to take the negative position. I was my mother's third child. She was still twenty when I was born. She told me once that if she could have had an abortion she would have. She was sick of being pregnant." She headed across the room a moment before anguished whimpers emerged from Carol's arm, the placid doll like baby transformed into a furious monster. With practiced moves, she flipped a cloth from a pile on the couch over her shoulder and shoved the baby under. The wail was cut short by a slurping noise.

Pausing to shuffle herself and the baby into position, she resumed making her point. "Parenthood is not for the fainthearted. Don't do it if you're not one hundred per cent committed."

She broke the silence that descended after that remark. "There's some fresh squeezed orange juice in the stasis unit. Hikaru had them sent over yesterday. They're from his orchard share. Spock squeezed them this morning before he went to work." Carol beat her to the kitchen and returned with the jug and a pile of four tumblers.

"How did the pet test go?" Christine asked. Gillian pulled a face. "Apparently, I'll be walking my rat every morning." She couldn't help laughing. Gillian wanted a dog, although Spock was clearly a cat person. Their combined answers didn't give either of them a good answer. "I don't know how Jim managed to get a dog, he's never home." Either because he was a Star ship Captain, or because his parents had been the official carers.

"How did the latest lot of tests go?" Gillian asked Carol as the women settled themselves into the lounge suite. Carol groaned. "The same as last time," she moaned. "As always. I told them he had to have added it at the last stage but they won't listen." That was the generous interpretation of what had happened to Carol's research. David had tainted it, changing it from the requested experiment and his notes had been destroyed. Since no one knew when he had made the changes, the Genesis Project had been declared bad data. Carol's career wiped away with the press of a few buttons. To be re-published and rebuild her reputation, she had to replicate twenty five years of experiments. To speed up the process, she was picking only those which had positive results, but it was still taking years. Certain high placed people were against her research, considering what had been done with it and what could be done with it and when in a bad mood, she blamed them for burying it. No one blamed her. Not that all of it could be published. Much was still classified, to the point where she was assigned a bodyguard to prevent her abduction. Carol explained in more detail until Nyota's eyes began to glaze over. A linguist, she was lost in the more complicated explanations of molecular biology. Carol cut off her explanation with an "I don't want to talk about it anymore. How are things going in academia?"

"Wonderful," said Nyota, putting down her drink on the end table. "One of my students showed me the most amazing way of encoding messages. It's not complete but I think she might really have something." They continued catching up until the baby was fed, burped, changed and put to bed in the Master Bedroom, and then inspected the nursery. The pale pink walls were now pale blue and one wall decorated with scenes from Winnie-the-Pooh. It was a projection, not the painted mural from last time. A change table next to the recycler was piled high with baby clothes. Really high. Nyota laughed, "Amanda?"

"Who else?" asked Gillian. "She's just a little bit excited." She slid back the wardrobe door revealing the empty shelves and they divided up the clothes, holding up particularly cute examples for examination before stacking them in piles of each size.

"I thought we'd have lunch by the pool. There's a hot plate out there and I've got the makings for hamburgers in the stasis unit." They divvied up the food, stacking it onto trays and Carol and Nyota headed outside. Gillian had retrieved a bottle of something that looked like a smoothie and took a swig, pulling a face before adding sugar and taking another one. "Nutrient shake?" she guessed and received a nod in reply.

"Vulcan made, it's pretty horrible. I suggested fresh fruit be added but it doesn't seem to have helped."

The door chimed and she gave Gillian a puzzled look. "It might be Jim," she suggested. Gillian shook her head and answered the door. When opened, the door revealed a short dark haired woman in a blue medical services uniform with a tricorder slung over her shoulder.

"Midwifery, may I come in?" she asked, stepping through the door. "Who are you?" asked Gillian, worried. It couldn't be bad news, Gillian would already know, wouldn't she?

"I've come for your check up," she assured Gillian in a cheerful dealing-with-patients voice. Her gaze slid over Christine and she gave a nod of recognition.

"I beg your pardon?" was Gillian's chilly reply.

"You've been out of hospital a week, so I've come to see how you're doing. Any problems with the baby?" She unslung the tricorder but Gillian stepped closer to her, prompting her to step back. "I'm fine. You can leave now." Gillian was cool and dismissive. The midwife tried to step around her but Gillian dodged to the side, blocking her entrance.

"I can leave if you need privacy," suggested Christine. She couldn't see the problem. Everyone had a midwifery visit to help sort out any problems with post natal depression and nursing. She'd called hers daily for a while there.

"I don't know who reported me, but there is no problem, you can leave now." Gillian had the midwife backed nearly out the door now. The poor woman was confused. "Don't you want your credits?"

A frown creased Gillian's brow. "Credits?" On firmer ground, the midwife took a breath. "Fifty citizenship credits come with your visit." Children's activities were the easiest way for parents to make back the credit loss of having a baby and the only reason she had seen her father after her parents' marriage dissolved.

"I realise that the communists are in control but there is no reason to pay me to see to my child's wellbeing," said Gillian. "I'd like you to leave now." Christine opened her mouth but a distant memory of Gillian claiming to have a million citizenship credits for her part in saving the world from the whale probe stopped her. Gillian took a deep breath "Just because you're a puppet of the totalitarian…"

"I can deal with this Gillian, why don't you have a nap?" Used to dealing with recalcitrant patients, she shooed the other woman into her bedroom and turned to the midwife.

"Sorry, lack of sleep, hormones, you know all that I suppose." She smiled in commiseration with the woman, who looked relieved. "The Vulcan medical centre is treating her case. I'm sorry they didn't let you know. I'll adjust that." She slipped the PADD from the woman's grasp and initialled the cessation of visits form.

"I knew that, but you know what Vulcans are like. I thought she'd like a human to talk to about any concerns she might have." Knowing Gillian would like to not have any more people poking at her Christine smiled and pointed to her signature. "She has me."

"Of course," the woman turned to leave. When she was gone, Christine checked the bedroom, finding Gillian asleep on top of the covers and tucked a light sheet over her.

She set the outer entrance to open and locked the inner door, allowing for all the deliveries, there were still glasses and crockery at least, plus Nyota's dress to arrive. Then she grabbed her glass of wine and retreated out to join the others, sliding open the clear window panel to access the stairs. She wouldn't trade her beloved home for anything but the pool was nice. Rectangular and Olympic sized, it was styled into the landscape with rounded edges allowing easy access. They sat at the corner in a group of loungers and chairs paired with square tables. Greenery blocked their view of the building but not of the ocean. Towels and robes were hung haphazardly around the loungers. Ny and Carol were already settled in, Ny on the recliner lounge and Carol sitting behind her, running the clippers through sections of her hair, holding it for a few seconds as it snipped the ends off. Done weekly, it would hold a haircut in that 'just right' state for months, depending on the intricacy of the cut.

"Where's Gillian?" asked Carol, letting the dark heavy strands fall through her fingers. Nyota was tapping the screen of a PADD, frowning. Probably doing a maths puzzle, she had to take her chances when Scotty and Spock weren't there, offering help. Of course, the alternative was a cryptic crossword, where Nyota would fill in at least 80% of the answers, leaving them the hardest ones.

"She accused the midwife of being the puppet of a communist society and threw her out of the apartment so I sent her to bed for a nap," Christine explained.

"Why? What happened?" Carol asked, looking up.

Christine peeled off her outer clothing off letting it fall on the armrest of the recliner and relaxed into the seat. Unfastening her bikini top she let the filtered sun reach her skin. The privacy screen shielded them from paparazzi and Gillian had set the force shield so it allowed the heater to keep the air pleasant and warm. "Culture shock," she said. "She didn't like the implied criticism."

"I loved my midwife," said Carol in a wistful voice. "I wanted to run off with him. I would have too, if he'd been into hysterical fat girls."

They lazed by the pool for a couple of hours, catching up on the details of what was happening in their lives. The panel in the arm of the chair alerted them to all the deliveries which needed delivery confirmation. An alarm sounded inside the apartment and Christine raced inside to turn it off, wrapping one of Gillian's robes around her as she went. A quick look inside the bedroom showed Gillian still asleep. She was undecided whether to wake her or not. The screen in the bedroom was set to the hospital room and the red flashing button in the corner showed it was recording. The time flashed at the top of the image and she pressed it to halt the beeping.

Two weeks and a full blood transplant later, James looked better than he had the day he was born. It had taken three days for the doctors to purge the green Vulcan blood from his system and let his body start producing red blood cells. He had remained on life support the entire time while his body adjusted, to his mother's continued horror and his father's apparent indifference. To all appearances, James was a tiny human baby, plump faced and pink skinned. Golden curls surrounded his wide blue eyes and his chubby fist rested on his chest which rose and fell in the regular rhythm of the respirator. A clear plastic mask encased his mouth and nose and a tube fed into his stomach. His baby fist was wrapped around a slender finger and she knew where Amanda was. Eventually, she left Gillian to sleep and returned to the poolside.

The inner door chimed again, half an hour or so later. "No wonder she's exhausted. Spock should change the security access if this is what happens every day."

"I'll do it," said Nyota, rising to follow Christine inside. Spock's coding was higher level than Christine would be able to break but Nyota would find it simple enough.

"Who is it?" she asked through the intercom. "Spock," was the reply so she hit the sensor plate. A smile crept across her face at the sight of a stoic Spock holding his arms in front of his robed chest flanked by Leonard carrying a ribbon wrapped present. Leonard averted his eyes from the bikini clad Nyota. Some men were brought up correctly. Spock didn't react in any way. He was used to finding his house and pool overtaken by half dressed women. There was no visible sign of stress on Spock's face but he held his back stiffer and more upright than normal.

"She's asleep," apologised Christine, stepping back to allow the men inside. "I wasn't sure whether to wake her or not." The removal of the respirator had been scheduled for the previous day but the doctors had decided not to risk it when the muscle twitch readings reached acceptable limits by the smallest possible margin. Spock nodded "Thank you, Christine," and headed to the bedroom. Through the open door, she could see Gillian bent over the baby pod. Leonard had placed his present in the ever growing pile on the floor beside the couch. The door seal cut off the faint whimper and left the little family alone.

"Everyone's out by the pool. You've still got a chance to get a good seat," she told him. He shook his head, laughing.

"Jim should be here soon, I'll head him off or he'll get all excited and barge in. Then Spock will rip his head off and you and I will get stuck cleaning up the blood." She smiled and gathered him into a gentle hug.

"Besides," he added "I bet you're behind on your fluffing. If Gillian has to be in the room with an unfluffed pillow there'll be hell to pay." He suited his actions to his words, picking up the nearest pillow and pounding it. She grabbed the one nearest her and tossed it at his head.

"Shh," he hissed and she let the second pillow slip from her fingers back onto the couch, ducking too late to avoid the missile he tossed in an underhanded throw.

"Cheater," she hissed and swiped at his head, shoving forward when he ducked to avoid the blow. Nyota dropped back onto the couch with a laugh, lifting her feet to avoid the combat. They wrestled, blows from the pillows flying in all directions. She had him pinned face down beneath her with the pillow raised above her head when the door chimed…again. She flung herself to her feet, arranging the mussed robe into a semblance of respectability.

The door slid open and Jim Kirk arrived. There was no other word for it. Even dressed in jeans and a jacket and carrying a couple of bags of groceries, he still had presence. Upright and cocky, he drew everyone's attention. Nyota's head flung upright and she smoothed her perfect hair behind her ear, taking several deep breaths.

"Where is the woman of the hour?" Jim asked, looking about in a casual manner which almost disguised his leering at his former Communications officer.

"Feeding the baby," Christine replied. A wide grin appeared on his face. "I thought so," he said, flashing a wide smile over Nyota's shoulder. She grabbed him and squeezed tightly for a long time before she spun on her heel and walked in the direction of the pool under Jim's appreciative gaze. What had happened? "Let me take this to the kitchen." Leonard grabbed half the bags and they followed him to the kitchen, stacking the food on the bench top.

"So, thought up any new ways to scare the hell out of us?" McCoy asked him, with a congenial slap on the back. "Or is it my turn now?" Jim laughed. Something had happened on this latest trip.

"That wasn't my fault," he argued, leaning against the bench. "They sent the ship out unprepared." They had brought the original launch date forward from today to last Friday so Starfleet's most famous charismatic captain could attend. It wasn't his order that sent the ship out into space before it was ready, if anything, the ships readiness would have been pushed so they could have the ceremony.


	48. Chapter 48 The Rest Of Your Life

Joy bubbled through Jim making him laugh, inappropriate though it was to the topic. He'd called Spock and McCoy from the ship as soon as it was over, they'd have felt his emotional reaction and Nyota's clearance was current so she would know. She was the consummate professional and wouldn't gossip even to her best friend. Maybe she would if he had died, but not under any lesser circumstance.

"An emergency call out for two ships caught in some sort of anomaly. The ship wasn't fully fitted out and we were the ones they called," he said, downplaying the truth and editing out the classified information with practised ease. Used to Starfleet protocol, Christine didn't press for details he couldn't supply. Jim ignored McCoy's scowl and turned to hug Christine, taking the opportunity to slide his hand over her firm backside. She pushed him away, laughing.

"What about the 'Excelsior'?" she asked, getting him back on topic.

"They recalled the crew and came too, but we were out beyond the solar system so we had a head start. As it was, one of the ships exploded and we lost the whole crew. And Scotty only got ninety seven off the other ship. By the time the Excelsior was there an hour later, it was all over." He couldn't shake the thought that if he'd pushed Harriman out of the Captain's chair sooner, he'd have saved them all. Harriman's indecisiveness had killed people before he even took the job. Every second he wavered had cost someone their life. He'd have had the ship in warp before Harriman had heard the distress signal. Jim's hands weren't clean by any stretch of the imagination but he could beat that untried puppy with one hand tied beside his back. The 'Enterprise' had lost ninety four crew members on the first mission. He had failed so many more of those who had put their lives in his hands since then. At least thirty deaths had been preventable if he'd put the clues together more quickly, if he'd trained the crew to obey him without question, if he'd been smarter, faster, better.

Harriman had nearly died when a burst of energy had hit the ship, tearing a hole in the hull. He'd saved his own life by hiding behind the navigation deflector, where its internal force field protected it from the forces it generated. He'd been white as a sheet when they'd found him, staring at the hull breach. Maybe he would quit after that abject failure, give Jim's ship to someone worthy. So he wouldn't have to watch and know he could do a better job, even at his age.

"Jim," called Gillian as she emerged from the bedroom. He moved as he approached them and he grabbed Spock's hand to shake it but pulled him into a half hug. There were no visible signs of emotion on Spock's face but he looked relaxed. There was tension, but it was contained, pushed far to the back. Spock must have decided to count his blessings. Spock protested "Jim." He ignored the complaint, he needed comfort, then let go and moved to greet Gillian, slipping his arm under hers and giving a gentle squeeze, mindful of the baby under her other arm. More heroics?" she lectured with mock sternness. She'd have felt his utter horror and Spock must have given her a summary of events. He grinned, as Gillian dropped James in his arms. It had been a while, but he settled the baby into the crook of his arm and made appropriate noises which were overshadowed by Christine's enthusiastic cooing. He guessed at the minimum acceptable time and good naturedly surrendered the baby to her. He didn't care much for children before the age of five or so but Spock had waited for this moment for years so he would coo with the best of them.

Deciding he had better show more interest, he said "Nice capsule."

"Hikaru brought us two, although we can fit both of them into the one while they're so small. I love it,' said Gillian, indicating the travel pod. "It's the best gift ever."

"Hey" protested Christine, "You haven't seen mine yet." Jim had helped her finish making it in time. It was sad what he was reduced to these days. There was a huge gaping hole in his life where his career used to be.

"No, look at this," insisted Gillian. She gripped the circular pod by the handles on each side and leapt at an angle. The pod supported her weight and spun several quick circles before slowing. Her laughter rang though the room and through his head until he joined in.

"Gillian," protested Spock in the tone of one who knows his audience will ignore him.

"We had a race in the store, it was great." Jim chuckled at that mental image. It was easy enough to believe.

"I'm going to start cooking," he announced, suiting his actions to his words. Jim gave the pod a gentle shove before heading for the kitchen followed by delighted female giggling. Gillian baked like a champion but tended to overcook everything else. And when adjusting to vegetarian cooking, she just left the meat out. Spock claimed he would eat anything as long as it contained sufficient nutrition and Gillian took him at his word. Of course, that attitude explained Spock's level of cooking expertise as well. Nyota followed him to the kitchen, shut the door and demanded a full accounting of his actions while he set everything out on the bench and checked the stasis unit to see if Gillian had started anything. Nutrition drinks, fruit, bread, ham and Death by Chocolate cake. He could tell Gillian had been here, all the cold items were grouped together with the hot things on the other side. He shifted it all to the left, hiding the ham at the back and pulling out the ingredients he wanted. With quick efficient movements, he trimmed vegetables and ran them through the food processor, stir frying them, then placing half in a covered bowl in the stasis unit. He removed the marinated pork from the bags on the counter, peeling back the lid and adding it to the mixture. It would just have to be garnished and paced on a bed of rice before serving. Reminded, he reached into the lower cupboard for the rice cooker and set up a batch. Mentally, he ticked the items off the menu as he worked his way down the list.

Shrieking and a familiar buzz dragged Jim out of the kitchen holding a vegetable knife. Gillian grinned and waved a blue light sabre around the room. "If I'd known I'd get one of these, I'd have had a baby earlier," Laughter trickled from Jim's mouth again. Scotty grinned and Nyota gave an indulgent smile, crossing the room to tuck her arm in her husbands.

'Is Sulu still winning?" he asked. Gillian looked thoughtful and swiped the blade through the air, slicing a vase in two. "No," she added. Scotty gave Nyota a smug look and she threw up her hands.

"I do not believe that is a safe present for a child, or for Gillian," Spock protested.

"It has a safety setting," Scotty showed them how to convert the blades to a non-cutting setting. Which resulted in an immediate sword fight in the living room, won by Hikaru naturally who displayed what was frankly a disturbing degree of skill with an up till now imaginary weapon.

People drifted in and out of the kitchen, some of them getting pressed into helping, others not. His clothes were already in the baby's room and he slipped them on when the women started getting dressed. He submitted, not at all reluctantly to having his hair brushed by Nyota. By 1800 hours, the official guests had started arriving, Theresa Liang and Jessica Adams, friends of Gillian from the New Cetacean Institute. Pavel and Irina arrived with Yoshiko. A trio of Vulcans arrived together at the exact time, the ever beautiful Saavik, tall skinny Dr Kalelothran and a middle aged woman who turned out to be T'Mir, the R'hil N'dat representative to record the births. The boys were old enough to be eligible to be entered in the official scrolls. T'Mir left as soon as possible, seeming unnerved to one who knew Vulcans, by the large boisterous crowd. They stood in the lounge room, and he watched McCoy and Christine make the vows he had made once to Spock's eldest son, to help his parents keep him to the way of Surak and take over if they were killed. Then everyone traipsed down the hallway to the hospital wing of the embassy where they repeated the ceremony in front of the hospital bed. To his surprise, not only were Sarek and Amanda added to the audience, but T'Pau happened to be visiting as well and gave still, formal congratulations. If she was disappointed, it did not show. He and Carol slipped their hands under James' head symbolic of the holding they should have done. He had offered to stand aside, he'd had his chance, but they had insisted on him, to his secret pleasure. He spared a wistful thought that it had been Nyota beside him last time. He had used the opportunity to talk her into bed. Well, she was married now. T'Mir left as soon as possible, seeming unnerved to one who knew Vulcans, by the large boisterous crowd.

In order to have dinner over by 2000 hours, he left a few items off his menu. Even so, there was an enormous amount of food. Pinwheels of pastry piled high in bowls surrounded by a vast array of salads and roasted vegetables. Chowder filled a crusty loaf of bread, flanked either side by thin slices of beef. Half the dishes were vegetarian and he'd avoided having anything which looked like the animal it came from on the table. Conversation flowed around the group, new research and theories, reminiscences of past missions. Despite the constant buzz of conversation, the food vanished steadily from the table.

The remains of dessert littered the table by the time Jim, anaesthetised from fear and shock by a few glasses of whiskey wrapped his arm around Carol and kissed her neck, mumbling how much he loved her. "Stop it, Jim," she hissed back.

"Oh, just have sex with him," suggested Gillian "It works for everyone else. I know he's getting a bit old but…" Jim's insulted exclamation of "I'm not old" cut across the general laughter.

"Of course you're old," maintained Gillian giving him an affectionate smile from across the room where she sat resting her head against Spock's shoulder in a rare public display of affection. Spock's fingers even touched hers at the tips.

Jim scowled at her, "That's not very nice." She was a mean cow and he was glad Spock was the one to have to put up with her.

I'm sorry," she said, unruffled "But its official and everything. I saw the show."

"The show?" asked Spock, puzzled.

"Wrath of Khan," she offered, addressing Spock. "Just before you died, Jim tried to proposition Saavik without success. One of the definitions of age is when your son is better at picking up women than you are. You became officially old at the moment. David succeeded where you failed." Jim shot her the evilest look he could muster. "I don't even know why I hang out with you," he grumbled but laughter bubbled out afterwards.

"'Cause I'm with Spock, of course," she informed him with a tipsy air of authority. "And now I've eaten, I have to go, its mealtime again. I'll leave you guys to your partying. She stifled a yawn and wandered to the bedroom.

Christine rose to follow her, and he grabbed his chance to corner her and duck into the bathroom for a moment's privacy. He knew she would have caught up with her friends in the last few days.

"How's Janice," he asked, as he always did.

"She's doing fine," she answered as always, dropping a soft kiss on his cheek. His guilt eased the tiniest it but most of it remained.

In twos and threes, the guests left to return to their own houses, until only the three of them, himself, Bones and Spock were left lounging on the balcony, watching the waves break on the shore. Quiet, peaceful and meaningless, tomorrow and each day to follow would be the same. Despair washed through him. He pushed it away. Dwelling on thoughts like that led to madness. Even Bones seemed happy in retirement. Not him, he was trapped, helpless, unable to make a decision or change anything and it was only the first official day. He used to treasure these times, between missions, time to pause and reflect, now they felt like an eternal prison sentence.

"Is something wrong?" asked Spock, surprising him. He'd been blocking for months now and Jim did tend to think if he couldn't feel Spock, Spock couldn't feel him, forgetting the other man's formidable psychic powers.

"Nothing," he said, not wanting to put a downer on the day. His urge to laugh hadn't vanished, he was just getting used to it.

"Retirement," corrected Bones. "He doesn't like it." Thanks a lot, Bones. I was trying to get off that topic of conversation. Spock flicked his eyebrow, conveying puzzlement. "Did you no longer wish to implement the plans we made before we reached Earth?" Spock asked. Exhilaration flared within him, "I assumed those plans were made when things were different," he said, trying to keep calm. The plans had been made for the two of them, he had thought them forgotten.

"They have been modified due to my added responsibilities," Spock conceded with an inclination of his head. "I will have to remain closer to Earth while the children are young. Gillian insists on it." Spock would not risk annoying her. He had not enjoyed the apparent breach in his relationship with Gillian at all. "Half of the ongoing negotiations with the Klingon government will be on Earth and I calculate that it will take 2.64 Earth years to complete the second stage." He wanted it, wanted that job with every fibre of his being. Two years ago, he would have turned his nose up at it, comparing it unfavourably with his Captaincy, but now….now he wanted it. "I have been drummed out of Starfleet. Not officially, my record is clean, but I have to stay away, except when they want me for publicity, if I want everyone's records untouched."

"You would not be working for Starfleet, the job would be with the Federation Diplomatic Corps."

"Will they take me?" he asked, barely able to breathe. Not officially blackballed, he was sure Nogura had pulled every string he had to make sure Jim was never gainfully employed again.

Spock hesitated and his heart sank "I will" he said. "Even if the official request does not go through, your assistance would be valuable." Spock wasn't able to push it through, then. "I find myself with excessive demands on my time at the moment and for some time to come. There would be occasions where your greater interpersonal skills would be an asset." Confusion raced through Jim, the things Spock was not saying fighting with what he knew. How could Spock not have time for a job, he had two on the 'Enterprise'. And then he knew. The ship ran on human hours, allowing Spock, with his lesser need for sleep and superhuman intelligence to hold down two full time human positions. Working as an Ambassador with the Vulcan arm of the Diplomatic Corps would have longer hours and Spock would not be able to work week about as Gillian no doubt expected. Spock wanted to job share, passing off some of his work to Jim. The world was truly changing and he was part of it. Peace with the Klingons and now this.

"I could do that," he said. He wanted to say more. One again, Spock had backed him, making possible some impossible task that needed doing. Spock inclined his head towards him, acknowledgment of everything he wanted to say but couldn't put into words. He took a sip from his drink.

Jim broke the companionable silence "Have you found happiness again," he asked. Spock gave him a puzzled look.

"You said your time with Leila was the first time in your life that you experienced true happiness," he reminded him. "Does this compare?"

"No," said Spock, to his surprise. "There is no resemblance at all." McCoy frowned in Spock's direction. "Cold blooded…" he grumbled under his breath.

"That was a feeling of euphoria, without worry or concern. I was content to do nothing of any importance. Now I have great concern for the health of Gillian and my son at all times." Baby James wasn't being counted, apparently. He hesitated "The… sensations I fell towards Gillian are much deeper, more primal. Sometimes, when they are all safe, I know a feeling of such contentment I have never known before. I have my family and my friends and I lack for nothing. Such a situation cannot last." He paused and said "Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what he loves." Jim recognised the quote as Pascal. Trust Spock to quote a mathematician on the subject of love.


	49. Chapter 49 Curiouser and Curiouser

Excitement curled through Spock. He contained it, pushing it far down in his psyche and continued his exploration of the ancient ship. He examined the still bodies in the out-dated stasis units, his eyes adjusted to the low lighting. She was in the twelfth one he inspected, lying on the higher platform, lashes framing her closed eyes, looking like the legendary sleeping beauty. A gold mesh rectangle covered a full length dark body suit. Her blonde hair hung in soft ringlets about her shoulders, tangling with the dark beads of her necklace. So close he could reach out and touch her if the plexiglass wasn't in his way. He moved without hesitation to the next compartment, keeping her in view while he considered his options.

Records had indicated her presumed death in 1994 with the destruction of the research facility she worked in. A rival House had razed the facility to the ground in a fierce battle which had eliminated their rival. There had been no confirmed sightings of her since. It was possible, of course that this was one of the differences between this and the alternate universe, but he had searched the records of the time period and discovered the lack of death records for a number of high ranking augments including Khan Noonien Singh and the disappearance of a sleeper ship, the 'Botany Bay' in 1996. He had destroyed the records, but they were copies of fragile paper documents kept beyond his reach in museums, so it was possible that Kirk knew it also. In either case, he would be able to make accurate deductions from the presence of the ship.

Spock had calculated a search area based on the maximum speed of space craft at the time and the elapsed time of the launch. A reported attack on the space port had potentially narrowed the launch window further. A faked signal, faint and intermittent had attracted Lieutenant Uhura's attention and brought the 'Enterprise' to this area of space as soon as there was a lull in direct orders. The area had not been subjected to anything more than a long distance automated scan fifty years ago.

The engineer, Scott walked in from the engine room trailed by the two security men. He walked past the bodyguards who stood either side of the door, one Spock's, one Kirk's and saluted Kirk "My findings agree with the initial scans. This vessel is of Terran origin, sometime in the 1990s. There are eighty four cryogenic chambers. Seventeen have failed already, most due to age but five show signs of sabotage. Refugees from the Eugenics War. The cargo's the prize. The antiques alone will make a tidy profit. There are also genetic samples from extinct species like buffalo which will be worth a fortune." Or if Gillian hadn't lied in her thesis, it contained sixty six Augments and one human. He was watching her in his peripheral vision and was the first to realise what was happening. Her chest rose and she took a shallow breath. He looked at the lower compartment and saw the woman encased there inhale.

Kirk gave the order "Leave the people. They're no use to us. We'll beam up the cargo and destroy the ship. Smith, Jankowicz, start loading. I'll beam over a few more security personnel to help you." It would be a mistake to underestimate Kirk. He hadn't got to be Captain of a ship in the Terran Empire by being stupid. He was vicious and cunning and he knew Spock wanted Dr Taylor and he intended to extract favours in return for her life. Of course, underestimating Spock was a foolish move too and Kirk had started the day by underestimating the Augments, not realising they would automate the ship's systems to revive them.

He waited until Kirk began to turn toward the body nearest him. "You do not wish to keep one of the women for yourself?" he asked. Kirk hesitated, no doubt suspecting Spock was trying to get out of paying for what he wanted. Spock moved towards one of the sleeping women who had yet to show signs of waking. She was beautiful. Pale skinned, with glossy black hair which coiled around her shoulders and large breasts emphasized by the skimpy outfit she wore beneath the gold mesh. "This one appears to conform to your preferred standards of beauty." Kirk gave him a malicious grin. "Not found the one you're looking for, yet, Spock? This would have to be the way Dr Taylor made it from the 20th Century."

"A logical conclusion, Captain," Spock turned his head towards a flickering movement at the edge of his vision. Gillian rolled out of the open compartment, fell to her hands and feet with a thud, shook her head and jerked her stiff body to a standing position. All around, the people in the stasis units were moving, some just twitching, others were scrabbling for the sliding doors. Kirk swore, drew his phaser and flipped open his communicator and ordered Security to send more men. Gillian, steps unsteady but purposeful walked past Kirk and Spock, dropping to her knees beside a unit on the far wall. Long straight black hair framed the face of a tall powerfully built man of Indian appearance. She struggled with the door but it wouldn't open. She cried out, her soft voice rasping with disuse, "Help me." Kirk and Spock had assumed defensive positions, back to back with their bodyguards and Mr Scott and the security men had done the same on the opposite side of the room. Until reinforcements arrived, they were outnumbered and separated from the other half of the landing party. With the continual motion in the room, it would be difficult for the transporter operator to locate a clearing long enough to make a safe transport. They could beam some security officers to an unused corridor but then they would have to fight through to this room. Their advanced weapons would favour them but they were outnumbered by stronger, faster opponents.

The reawakened Augments moved as though they did not see them, not reacting to their presence at all. A tall dark skinned man strode to Gillian's side and forced the plexiglass open with some difficulty and dragged the occupant out, letting his limbs flop to the floor. Spock estimated he showed less than human strength, not the five times human he should have. They were weak and disoriented after their time in stasis. A glance at Kirk showed him less tense, he had seen it too.

Gillian's hands fluttered at the man's chest and mouth and then began what Spock recognised as a primitive form of resuscitation, placing her mouth over his and breathing until his chest rose. The dark man placed his hand over the prone man's heart, pushing down on his chest. Seventeen seconds later, his chest started to rise on its own but the man choked and moaned without opening his eyes. "Help me," she begged again, this time looking straight at their group. "Please help him."

Spock and Kirk exchanged glances and Kirk said "I want Marla." He moved forward at Spock's curt nod. Spock trailed at his heels, careful not to upset Kirk's fragile ego by usurping his authority. Kirk leered down at Gillian. "I will call a doctor for your comrade, but it won't be free." She inclined her head and beckoned with her hand. Spock aimed his phaser at the women who split from the group and approached Kirk's back, bringing them to a halt. "What are your terms?" Gillian asked in a neutral voice. "You will belong to my First Officer in return for medical care for your comrade." Without hesitation, she nodded but continued arguing "Katie or Ling are more suitable…"

Kirk cut her off, "No, he wants you." Her face clouded over but she clarified "If he dies, the contract is void." Spock motioned the Augments back with his phaser and Kirk used his communicator to summon Dr McCoy into the cleared space. His arrival by transporter beam caused a ripple of amazement from the assembled Augments who crowded back against the walls, exchanging surprised glances. McCoy ran the scanner over the unconscious man and Doctor and patient transported off to the medical bay once understood Kirk wanted the man saved.

Around them, the Augments sorted themselves into loose groups, checking on their comrades and assisting them up. They gave no overt signs of aggression but kept the humans in their sights at all times and in each group, several stretched and the others stood keeping watch. He couldn't pick a leader among them and combined with Gillian's acquiescence to his offer, he decided the man in sick bay was Khan.

He caught Gillian's eye. It wasn't hard she was staring at his ears and he waved her over. She moved towards him, asking "What will happen to the rest…?" Without answering her, he grabbed her arm and called for three to be transported to the 'Enterprise'. They rematerialized on the same transporter pad she had used to appear in his life. Unlike the indifference her counterpart had displayed, she inspected the platform and room with curiosity, eyes darting from side to side. He gripped her arm above the elbow and urged her off the platform. It was pleasing to introduce her to the wonders of the ship. Later, she would become accustomed to them, accepting them as her due as the wife of a powerful man. For now, they were a new and interesting experience.

The security detail parted to allow them past, reassembling behind him, six taking up positions on the transporter pad. No others had beamed into the room after McCoy; they must be arriving in other areas of the 'Botany Bay'.

Torel fell into step ahead of him after they passed the saluting guards and they strode the corridors of the ship with silent footsteps. He had expected the continual chatter of last time but she was silent, her inquisitive gaze taking in the route. It was almost possible to read her thoughts from the expression on her face, although he was cautious after the treachery of last time. She had not reacted to him as before. Then, he had locked eyes with her and seen, in that moment, something he had never seen directed at him. A look of knowing, of understanding, of belonging, directed at him for the briefest moment until her eyes widened and she dropped her gaze, something, the weakness of the marital bond perhaps, telling her he was not her husband.

Torel took up position on the opposite side of the door from the stocky human Russ, who was room guard today. Spock accompanied Gillian into his cabin and showed her how to use the bathroom and shower. "You will remain in my cabin. Do not attempt to leave or the guard will stun you. I will return when my shift is over. Do not touch anything." He ordered her water and a ham sandwich from the food replicator and handed them to, unsure if her digestive system would be prepared for food or not. He turned at her nod and left her, picking at the sandwich. He didn't believe that she would obey, but passwords protected the computers in his cabin so there was little damage she could do. He took the conn from Uhura and seated himself in the Captain's chair. Khan, according to McCoy was doing well but yet to regain consciousness. He sent Marla a message telling her of her change of ownership. He had requested her transfer to the 'Enterprise' after a thorough perusal of Starfleet personnel logs knowing he needed leverage and that Kirk's covetous eyes would fall upon the stunning redhead. He had not moved her in with him, unlike the Captain, he preferred his privacy. He moved credits to her account as a parting gift. Captain Pike had always done so, claiming that it was better to part on good terms.

Captain Kirk took too long to return to the bridge. He had stopped by sickbay to meet the now conscious Khan but what should have been a short visit lasted well over an hour. An unexpected complication, Khan was a prisoner, his cargo forfeit, his information out-dated. What could he be bargaining with? His female followers?

He left the bridge at the end of his shift and spent two hours in the Astrophysics lab before retiring to his cabin. There was no reason to show weakness to the rest of the crew by altering his routine. Gillian was on the lounge where he had left her, arms curled around her knees, eyes startled open at his entrance.

"Come," he ordered and watched her uncurl herself from her seat on the lounge. She was hesitant but not blatant about it. She feared him, but not to an excessive extent, a general caution of the unknown. She stopped 0.9 metres from him, arms held loose at her side and rather than chastise her, he walked forward so he was close to her, well within her comfort one. She was so tiny, and delicate, he would protect her from all danger.

"Is there anything you would like in the cabin?" he asked. She hesitated "I was bored, would it be possible to have scientific literature to catch up on what I've missed?" A logical request, one he had anticipated and would agree to. She would see the advantages to his protection. She was meant for him and always had been.

"I will see to it," he promised, lifting his hand from behind his back and running his fingers through her hair, pulling it loose from its tie. She tensed and a sudden thought struck him "Did you have a lover? Khan?" he asked. He had so focused on finding her it had not occurred to him before. If she named someone, she would be signing his death warrant. She gave a slight shake of her head, "My Lord does not honour me in that way. He has assigned us breeding partners based on genetic matches," she replied. "After we have a child with them, we are free to choose our own partner." Her voice was polite, he could not determine if she was in favour of the idea or not. "You will have to tell your partner you will not be available for him," Spock said.

"Am I allowed to talk to them?" she asked.

"It will depend on your behaviour," he said. There was no rush. The Augments would want to establish themselves before they set up a breeding program. "For the moment, you will stay in my cabin. It is not safe to walk the corridors of the ship without bodyguards."

She frowned at him, "Why not?" He examined her face but she appeared to be serious.

"There is a risk of assassination from people who want my position as First Officer. Have you not just left five years of war?"

"Yes," she drew out the word in a long syllable. "We were in danger every day from the enemy. Not from each other. We swore allegiance to Khan and therefore rise and fall as one. What benefits the groups benefit us all."

Vulcans had survived the devastating wars before the Time of Enlightenment and the incursions by humans by banding together. Most of Spock's relatives hated him for being a hybrid but they would defend him to the death against outsiders. The Great Houses dominated even the Terran Empire. Starfleet was the exception, the domain of the talented but unconnected, men and women who hoped to earn enough wealth and prestige for an alliance with power. Starting a new House from scratch was an unachievable goal. Three hundred years ago, they were all just beginning. This then was the remnants of what would have been the House of Khan. "Would you consider changing your allegiance?" he asked. That would make it easier. His was an alien clan and he was its lowest member despite his father but they were still powerful.

She scoffed "What good would my word be then. I would be a turncoat. No one would ever trust me again." An excellent point albeit one standing in the way of what he wanted and he would have to remove it. She would have to learn her place. He released the lock of hair and his hand wandered from her collarbone to her breast, stroking her nipple through the thick fabric. She held her breath and closed her eyes.

"You agreed to this," he reminded her. She nodded and swallowed her nervousness, breathing out, forcing her eyes open and curving her lips upwards in a non-smile. Her small fingers pressed into his chest, circling his nipple. Her hands flattened, stroking from top to bottom then back again, leaving a trail of desire in their wake. Both moved together in a slow sweeping motion, so light as to be maddening. Fire burned from her fingertips to his groin. He grabbed her wrists, intent on dragging her hands downward. Mild curiosity overlaid distaste and fear. He had forgotten. He moved her left wrist down over his heart, letting her feel the thrum of its rapid rhythm. She gave a small mew of surprise and spread her fingers wide, as though to pluck his heart from his body. Her other hand slid up to the top of his uniform shirt. Slid into the opening at his neck, pulling the outer shirt open, Pinpricks of desire raced through him as her fingers stepped their way down his chest, touching each of his ribs in turn. Numbering the same as humans, they were more widely spread to cover his heart. The sides of his shirt hung loose, the sash pulled out of its knot, slithering to the floor, abandoned. He reached for her again, trailing two fingers against her neck, garnering her interest. She tilted her head to give him access, her hands not stopping their exploration of his abdomen, reaching and probing for differences in his anatomy. She would not find any there and the slowing of her hands displayed this realisation.

He let his desire for her flow through his fingers and into her, where it should meet any answering emotion and create a feedback loop. It sparked interest before she jerked away, fear flooding his senses at the touch of his mind. "What?" she was unable to quantify the sensation. He reached for her breast again, caressing though her shirt. She remained still until his fingers brushed the skin at the junction of her thumb and hand. She flinched, pulling her hand away. "Vulcans are touch telepaths," he explained, taking her hand again. The touch of her mind was distant, some rudimentary mental training allowing her to withdraw her mind from a casual mental intrusion. It was easily within his power to tear through her mind even with what she had done but he hesitated to do so. When they were bonded, his life would be in her hands and it was not unknown for captive women to suicide taking their bond mates with them rather than live in mental captivity. Sex with an unwilling woman had little appeal for him. The previous First Officer Eunice Robbins had threatened to manufacture charges against him if he did not submit to her sexual demands. He had apologised for his lack of experience and then been so rough that she begged him to stop. He didn't, until she was injured enough to require medical attention. There had been some satisfaction in revenge and preventing others from preying on him had been important but the sex itself had been mediocre. When his Time came upon him, he would not notice or care but until then, he did.

He relented, "I will not require intercourse from you, oral stimulation will be sufficient. Her eyes, which had brightened at the first part of his statement, dropped and she nodded and mumbled okay. Some part of him wanted to let her be, to let her get to know him, but the majority which had watched the woman he wanted flee with another man, needed to own her. He yearned to throw her on the bed and not let her up until she understood she belonged to him, now and forever. She sank to her knees the wet shine of tears on her cheek as she bent her head. Her submissive posture was too arousing and he stayed quiet while she tugged at the unfamiliar fastening of his uniform pants. Her movements were hesitant, unsure, her touch gentle and her tears fell like rain.

It was a mistake. She wouldn't talk to him after, answering his questions with a nod or shake of her head. She fled to the shower and remained in there until he ordered her out. She tried to curl herself in the corner with one of the pillows but he pulled her into the bed with him, against her protests. A violent shake of her head followed his suggestion she disrobe, but he insisted that she ease off her boots. Disappointed, he let her be, but snuggled under the covers with her, wrapping his arm around her back and watching his breath stir her fringe. He ignored her closed eyes; her breathing told him she was not asleep.

His passion for her had born so quickly, from so little,a sliver of memory 17.6 seconds long. He had been intrigued at her presence, curious as to the identity and nature of the woman his alternate self was married to, a similar curiosity to that which had driven Kirk's questions about the life of his alternate. Her intelligence had attracted him as it must have attracted her husband but he had desired the knowledge that she possessed as much as he had desired her. His obsession hadn't been born until those brief moments in the transporter room. She had smiled, given a joyful cry of 'Spock' and raced to the protection of her husband. Not the obedience of paid for woman or the dutiful acquiescence to his needs of a priestess but genuine affection. Uninvited, and unwanted at first, she had crept into his barren heart and cold precise mind to become an unsettling obsession.

He had seen such emotion before. His mother, although given to Sarek to seal an alliance, displayed such emotion towards him despite his treatment of her. He was not abusive but the existence of Spock's two younger half-brothers was proof of his enduring commitment to his legal wife beyond their joint appearance at official functions. Most Vulcans viewed Spock's existence as evidence of illogical thought in Sarek. Keeping a concubine was one thing, allowing her to bear a half breed son another. A daughter might have made a respectable marriage to a man in need of her service at the right time, but no Clan Matriarch would countenance a marriage between a valued daughter and Spock. Vulcans were long lived and the memories of slavery under the foot of the Empire had yet to fade. A life of contemplation in a monastery or the precarious existence of an unbonded Vulcan male was the options available to him. He had rejected both options for a life in Starfleet, far from the routine of home. It had not worried him when he was younger and suffered the arrogance of youth. The Healers were of the opinion that his human blood would be insufficient to protect him from the burning Sarek had bequeathed to him but he was determined to prove them wrong. He had refrained from taking a woman throughout his years at the academy, meditating instead more than the recommended amount, confident he would overcome the weakness of both his human and Vulcan blood, prove himself more, not less than his peers. It had not worked. His body had burned and he had been lost to logic and reason, subject to the animal passions that threatened not just his mind but his life, screaming for release from the burning. Uhura had arranged for him to be taken to Vulcan and he owed her for that, self-serving as it was.

Now she was here and a different destiny had presented itself. She had found within him some small flicker of hope that he had not managed to crush. Created a burning desire for what she represented. Told him without words what he needed to hear. He had waited too long for her already. He wanted her to give him the love and complete devotion the other Spock received so freely from his wife. Wanted and needed it with a fierce burning desire that would not be banked. Thoughts of her invaded his mind when he was supposed to be meditating. He lost himself in his memories and dreams, imagining her softness and gentleness wrapped around him, the iron will she had demonstrated bent to serve his desires. She would benefit too. She looked drawn and haggard compared to her other self, although she must be younger than the other woman by the length of three pregnancies and the rest time between. He would hold her safe, care for her and watch the stress flow from her, leaving contentment behind. It shouldn't be beyond his capabilities, the other Spock had achieved it.

He was still pondering his next actions when he realised she was asleep. She had been awake for 5.68 hours but he did not know what effect stasis had on human health. He would call for McCoy and have her health assessed. He could check for and remove any viable ova at the same time. Gillian was forty-two, seven years older than him and would have been exposed to many more environmental toxins during her life than the equivalent in the 23rd century. Flushing them from her system would be a priority.


	50. Chapter 50 Colouring Outside The Lines

Spock let himself into the darkened apartment. He had called to let Gillian know he and Jim had finished negotiations early and he was coming home and hoped she was still waiting up for him. He left the lights off, the moonlight streaming through the windows illuminated the room sufficiently for him to make his way to the lounge room, picking up the baby rugs scattered over the floor and folding them into a neat pile. Gillian's blonde hair trailed over the end of the arm of the couch, her closed eyes concealed by the pillow she snuggled. Starved of her presence, he stood watching her, noting the circles under her eyes. When Spock was home he gave the boys their night time feeding, with him gone, it fell on her. They were tolerant of Spock's deficiencies as a parent and drank it with minimal grumbling but Gillian was guaranteed a baby temper tantrum when she tried to feed them formula instead of breast milk. Two baby temper tantrums.

"Spock," she murmured as he slid his hands under her to carry her to bed. She stirred and pushed herself to a sitting position, pressing her soft lips against his. He embraced her and she pressed her face to his chest. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. The boys have been grumpy." James, in particular, had the sleeping patterns of a Vulcan newborn.

"It was not my intention to inconvenience you," he replied. She gave him a shy smile, "I am glad you are home, I've missed you. It will be good to have an adult to talk to again." He had left his mother and Sarek on Qo'noS to continue negotiations there and if Gillian still worked on the 'Yves-Jacques Cousteau' it would have been her week on. . She glanced at the clock, which announced the hour as 2108, and frowned.

"Have you eaten? We could go out." she asked. They had time to go to a restaurant and could beam back if one of the boys triggered the baby monitor.

"I have," said Spock who had been hoping for a more intimate welcome home. Gillian smiled and offered "I'm a little tired, but we could watch that documentary you queued, I haven't had the chance to see it. Or you could tell me how the negotiations went." She snuggled in beside him on the couch and he flicked the documentary on. Gillian tried to watch but soon relaxed into his shoulder, asleep.

He lowered the volume and watched the show until savage hunger pangs alerted him to the imminent awakening of Serek. He lowered Gillian to the couch and snatched a bottle of formula from the stasis container in the nursery. Slipping it into his left hand, he scooped the baby's head with his elbow, lifting him out of the pod and angled the bottle into the baby's mouth. The sound garbled as Spock squeezed the bottle, forcing formula into Serek's mouth. He protested a little, the sugar content was lower than human breast milk, but settled into suckling. He repeated the action with his right hand before more than a disgruntled grizzle emerged from James. Feeding, burping and changing both babies without letting them become distressed enough to wake Gillian required some coordination. He could influence the t'hy'la bonds because he was the central person in the linkage. Even the bond between Gillian and the humpbacks relied on his presence. The bond between baby James and Gillian was independent of him and he had less influence over it. Gillian had asked T'Pau to assist her in ensuring that it was correct and stable.

Serek went to sleep the instant his physical needs were attended to. James wanted to play but Spock was trying to train him to sleep through the night. He ran his fingers over the tiny spine, making gentle neuropressure adjustments. He initiated a small meld with the baby and adjusted the bio controls to encourage sleep. That done, he rested the sleepy but not sleeping baby over his shoulder and patted him until his golden curls bounced. Spock held him close, rocking gently to lull the baby to sleep.

Awareness of her presence drew Spock's attention to the doorway. Gillian was watching him with a gentle smile on her face. "It appears I was in error when I opposed your decision" said Spock. Gillian lifted her eyebrow at his remark. She wiped the baby's face then lifted him and placed him in the pod beside his sleeping brother. He squawked and fought to keep his eyes open but the lids proved too heavy. Spock tucked the sheet at the boys feet, double checking to make sure he settled them over the baby monitors. They went off several times a night so he had it set to a pitch he could hear but Gillian could not. Gillian waited until he slid the covers shut before she raised the lights and padded barefoot across the floor.

"Ya think?" she said, they both sank down onto the bed, staring at the hazy forms of their offspring.

"Yes," he said, although he was aware of the rhetorical nature of her question. "You are an excellent geneticist and did an admirable job. You were correct when you stated my decision to forgo another pregnancy was based on emotion." He was ashamed of his lack of emotional control and had pressured himself to do better. Spock had never apologised to her before. Apologising was illogical.

"I'm sorry too," she said, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow. "I was a total bitch during our argument. And keeping the bond closed for all those months when you were away was mean. I told myself it was to keep you from getting upset or knowing what I was doing but part of me wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me." She snuggled into his side and took a deep breath as though breathing in the scent of him. "I missed you. So much."

"And I you," he said, noting her surprised look. He had told her he loved her, of course, on Vulcan after he told her they were already bonded. Six month later, she had brought the subject up again and he had confirmed "his feelings were unchanged and likely to remain so". She was used to humans and their fickle emotional ways. Vulcan avoided emotional attachments but once they formed they were not easily removed. It was a favourable sign that she no longer sought reassurance on this point. She was human, though, and human women liked verbal reassurance of love, so he said it.

"The boys are asleep," he hinted. The boys were four months old and she had not yet instigated sex. He recoiled from propositioning her and being rejected. Vulcan males did not respond well to rejection from their mates. It triggered a deep set fear response that was difficult to suppress and developed easily into violence. He had suffered enough emotional turmoil in recent years so he preferred to wait rather than risk rejection. It would be beneficial for his emotional state to go to Gol as he had at the end of the first five year mission, to clear his mind and stabilise his emotions but his new obligations prevented it. Most Vulcans strove to live quiet, uneventful lives, it made following the Way of Surak much easier. He needed time to process everything that had happened.

It was still an assumption on his part that they were to continue on as they had been, to put their argument behind them as if it had never happened. He would never forget it, the pain she had caused him but it was illogical to dwell on it. They would have to go on from here. Forgiveness would come more easily if she were to physically demonstrate her regret.

She gave a small sad smile. "Actually, since we're alone and I've had a sleep, I think we need to have a talk. We have some issues to discuss." Between Jim and his mother, it was rare that they had a night to themselves.

He could feel tension through the bond. "Is something bothering you?" he asked.

She hesitated, and then said "I'm not sure I want to go back to work. But on the other hand, staying home with the babies all day is…less than intellectually stimulating."

Nothing serious then but he wasn't sure what to say so he asked, "Do you have a plan? Further education, perhaps, or teaching" he suggested.

"I won't be able to live off my savings for too long," she continued. This ruled out education, she'd already had her free education, although a degree in literature or similar would be inexpensive. It didn't use the same resources as the sciences, only the exams cost credits, the lectures were available for free.

Spock bit down on his first impulse to offer her money. He had lived an ascetic life for years and had extensive savings even without counting his inheritance. He knew the offer would anger her as it had on previous occasions. "I feel it is my duty to offer to pay for half the genetic engineering costs as they are my children too." T'Pau would pay for them if Gillian let them join the S'chn T'gai instead of R'hil N'dat. She didn't wave him off as usual. "Maybe," she said, not reacting to his suggestion. He had not addressed her primary concern then.

"You could contract out as a hybridisation specialist," he suggested, although he was sure she had considered the option.

"Maybe," she said. She tilted her head to look him in the eyes, "You wouldn't think less of me if I quit?"

"Of course not. That would be illogical," he replied, puzzled by the question. His own mother had taken maternity leave for the first three years of his life although she was an award winning educator. "I am confident you will succeed at whatever you decide to do. May I point out some would consider raising our children to be an important endeavour? Especially for the first three years." After that, he wanted them to begin the long process of a proper Vulcan education. He had pointed out the advantages of it to Gillian but she had been non-committal. As the boys' only legal parent, she had sole guardianship. He was unsure how much he should pressure her. "Yes," she said, biting her lip, "and when I'm away from them I miss them, too." She set her jaw "No, you're right," she said, about what Spock had no idea. "The children have to come first. I'm a mother now and I have to put their needs first. I will send in my resignation in the morning, hopefully they will let me come in a few days a month to talk to George and Gracie. I'm not sure what else I can do, but I will think of something. Further education, hybridisation contracting, teaching," she pulled a face at the last one. She breathed out and some of the tension left her body.

"There are other things we have to talk about," she continued. He remained silent. He thought he knew the direction the conversation was going but in case he was wrong, he didn't want to initiate it.

"I don't want any secrets between us," she said. "And I've been keeping some for a while now. I wanted to wait until we knew how things were going to turn out with James before I brought the subject up. You won't be happy with what I'm going to say but I miss the relationship we used to have and I want it back. We can't have it without total honesty."

Spock tensed and pushed his mental controls further into place. "I know," he said. "Jim told me." He had been…displeased by Jim's confession. He knew that human ways were different from Vulcan ways and that Gillian had never agreed to conform to the behaviour standards of a Vulcan wife. Or to marry him, for that matter, but she knew his opinion on these things and did not usually stray from acceptable behaviour. Acceptable behaviour for a married woman as Gillian understood it, anyway. Vulcan rules were much stricter.

"He did?" She sounded surprised, as though she though Jim would continue to deceive him past the point of necessity. Perhaps he should listen to her version of events.

He pushed his anger away, he would not react, it was not logical. The main functions of a Vulcan wife were to save his life every seven years and to provide him with children. Gillian had performed brilliantly at both, done more than he could ever have wished. He would not chide her for her lapse. His fierce desire to do so was an animal passion, a remnant of the violent past his ancestors had foresworn. That he had foresworn. T'Pring's words at the kal-i-fee indicated that she intended to continue her association with Stonn if their marriage went ahead. He would have had to ignore the situation as long as she attended to the duties of a wife and did not publicly flaunt the relationship.

"I damaged our marriage in order to get my own way and I want to make it up to you," she said, staring up at him with wide sincere eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do to make it better and I will do it."

"It is not necessary," he replied, pushing down the desire to make her pay.

"It would make me feel better, relieve my guilt," she insisted. "I will feel better if you give me something to do as penance." He should refuse, it was illogical, it would not help his emotional state, would not make him 'feel better'. But if her guilt drove her to actions she would not otherwise entertain, he was free to take advantage of them. There were several logical actions she resisted performing.

"It is logical for us to be married," he said. "It is a stable home environment for the children and will clarify the legalities of our relationship."

A tiny wrinkle creased her brow. "A Vulcan marriage?" she asked.

"By default, we are both Vulcan citizens," he replied. He would agree to a Federation ceremony, if that was what she wished but it would not change the legalities. A traditional Vulcan ceremony was more logical but he had already had one. His research had mentioned that human women liked to differentiate their weddings from those of previous wives.

She did not reply, avoiding his gaze.

"You do not wish to be married to me?" he noted, his voice steady. He did not want to force her, but she had offered her compliance.

She jerked her head up. "It's not you who are the problem," she reassured him. "It's the marriage part."

Spock had readied his arguments for this part. "Marriage does have a long history of misogyny and patriarchal entitlement on both of our planets, but you shouldn't let that influence your decision. Current day marriages have as little in common with…"

Gillian interrupted "If we marry, then T'Pau has the authority to make decisions about me and the boys. She can make us send them to the schools she wants and organise their marriages. Can't she?"

He hesitated for an instant before saying, "You would have the final say." Officially, that was true. There would be considerable pressure for her to take 'advice' from the matriarch. Sarek had endured familial separation not just from choosing Amanda but for not pressuring her to raise Spock in a completely Vulcan manner. Spock's schooling had been Vulcan but his mother had kissed him in public on three separate occasions and thrown her arms around him when he returned safe from his kahs-wan, humiliating him in front of his peers.

He could, of course, offer to join R'hil N'dat but doing so would mean relinquishing his rank as heir. His father had campaigned for years to have Spock accepted as his heir. Even Amanda had commented, when she thought he was out of earshot, that she enjoyed the thought of seeing the children who had been his adversaries bow down to him when he took his father's position, though it was unlikely that she would live to see it.

"Why?" Gillian asked. His eyebrow rose at the question.

"Why marriage? What part is important to you? If I bought a ring and changed my name, would that be enough? Or is it something different that you want?" He hadn't wanted to say it, the likelihood that she would be insulted was high, but she had asked.

"I would have guardianship of the boys, in the event of your death," he admitted. And a legal position if she left him. Their separation had made him realise the possibility. He hoped that she would not deny him access to his sons in that event, but he had seen more than one previously rational spouse of an 'Enterprise' crewman behave in an atrocious and illogical manner after the breakup. Leonard McCoy had rarely seen his daughter from the time of his divorce from Jocelyn until the girl was eighteen. Her moving to a different planet had made physical visitation difficult. "And more say in their upbringing," he added.

Gillian' brow creased. "You have equal say now," she objected, puzzled. "Serek's name would be Anthony if it were my choice." Vulcan tradition dictated that the mother named the child but cultural expectations were taken into account and the eldest sons in S'chn T'gai were named in honour of Surak. Most of their parenting decisions had been made under the advice of the Vulcan doctors assigned to the babies care. Reduced in number since the hospital discharge, they sent daily recommendations as to sleeping patterns and custom mixed the formula according to readings sent via the monitors.

"You have listened to my point of view before you made your decision," he conceded. Disregarding it and continuing with the pregnancy against his wishes.

Guilt, chagrin and insult flickered both across her face and through the bond. "Okay, that's fair. I can't say that I would like the reverse situation, being dependent upon your goodwill." She tilted her head to one side "Paper contracts are still legal here, aren't they?"

"To differentiate between the materials a legal document is written on would be illogical. Paper is rarely used anymore because electronic storage is faster, safer and ..." she had turned and left the room, returning from the office with a sheet of the thick paper she used to send special invitations and a fountain pen. Propping it on the back of her main PADD, she wrote in straight even lines across the paper.

"I, Gillian Marie Taylor assign S'chn T'gai Spock cha Sarek equal legal custody and guardianship of my sons James Anthony Taylor and Serek Michael Taylor as he is their biological father." She folded the paper over, so the top edge covered the writing and creased it shut.

Glancing in the mirror, she smoothed down her dishevelled hair. Spock grabbed the brush with one hand and her hair with the other, quickly coiling it at the base of her neck, securing it with a copper clasp.

In the hallway, Gillian caught the attention of the first people to walk down the hallway. "Excuse me, could I ask you to witness a signature for me?" The women, uniformed Embassy guards on their way off shift, agreed and watched Gillian sign the paper and attested to the veracity of the signature. Pleased, Gillian thanked them, waved off the lecture on the illogic of thanks and presented Spock with the folded piece of paper.

It wasn't the joyous acceptance of his name and clan that Spock had wanted but he could feel tension unwind within him as his fingers closed over the crisp paper. Whatever happened, he would not be parted from his sons. He turned the words over his mind, enjoying the weight and feel of them. Returning to the bedroom, he slid it into the safe on his side of the room. He turned to find Gillian watching him, a chagrined, hopeful expression on her face watching for his reaction, waiting for his approval as he had waited on her for so long. He rebuked himself for the thought, it had been a stressful year and it was logical for her to have focussed her attention where it was needed. She, and he suspected Carol Marcus, had had to make the adjustments which allowed James to live. Restoration of her health after the difficult inter-species pregnancy was also a priority; which brought them to the next subject.

"Will you destroy all the samples you still have of my DNA?" Two boys were enough, another pregnancy would be disagreeable. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked as stern as possible.

Gillian's eyes flickered away before she said "I can't." She rushed in with further explanation. "I already made another embryo, at the same time as the boys. It was supposed to be a boy and a girl, before James. I promised you a daughter, remember." He did, as clearly as the day it happened. Her bright and happy smile lit by the morning sunlight on the beach as she said, "We are going to have a baby girl in seven months' time. You don't have to worry, I've had Dr Corrigan review my work personally and he says I have achieved a viable embryo that shouldn't upset my immune system." Daniel Corrigan was the human half of the Human/Vulcan partnership that had performed Spock's genetic engineering. The drug that had suppressed his mother's immune system while she carried an alien child had won them a Zi Magni.

Gillian knew him too well. If the embryo was stored, it would become the property of the Federation on their deaths, distributed for growth and birth to suitable adoptive parents. If there was little chance of success, perhaps he would have preferred it, avoided the risks to Gillian's health and his own stress levels. Now, he could not countenance anyone other than him raising his child, even if it did mean another endless stressful pregnancy. Waiting wasn't an option either. His age mates had shunned him at their parent's behest, when they weren't actively attempting to make him lose his composure. He had been pleased for Serek when James had lived, more than for himself. Serek would never be as lonely as he had been throughout his childhood. It was desirable for the third child to be as close in age as possible.

"I want the rest destroyed,' he said. She nodded, mouth set but pleased nonetheless.

"You won't be sorry," she promised, slipping her arms around him and laying her head against his chest. A smile flickered at the edge of her mouth. It still amused her not to feel his heartbeat. Leaning back, not releasing her arms, she said, "It will be okay. I was right about the boys, wasn't I? I promise you a very boring pregnancy this time. I know that our bonding was an accident and you can't get out of it but you won't regret it. T'Para might be a full Vulcan but I will be a better wife to you than she was. I can do this."

How could she reach such an inaccurate conclusion? "Who told you that?" he asked. "That I stayed bonded to you because I couldn't get the bonding severed?"

"Everyone," she said, looking perplexed, "Everyone who said anything to me at all about it. They all say the same thing, that the bond affects your mind, makes you not want to take it off. T'Pau, your mother, some of the healers came into speak to me. At a guess, everyone who read my medical file came and spoke to me."

"I told them in case it affected anything," she added in an explanatory tone. "T'Pau said that the main reason she allowed your parents' bond to remain was the difficulty and danger involved in removing it. There's such a high risk of mental or emotional damage when one or more parties are against it, and they usually are, because of the nature of the bond. Usually, I gather, the only time it's removed is if one of the participants is already bonded but there is an emergency of some kind." She didn't need to specify what kind of emergency. "The second bond is usually weak and easy to remove. Even then, the other partner often suffers, but it's a choice between them and the original spouse."

"That is an incorrect interpretation of events," he said. "I was in the process of courting you when we were bonded. It is why I invited you on the boat excursion. If events had proceeded as I had planned, we would have ended up in the same position."

Her face lit up with happiness. "Really?"

"Yes." He unclasped his hands, sliding them along her arms to her elbows, letting his sincerity flow through to her, sensing for her emotions. She had thought him still married and thus dismissed any indication of attraction in his behaviour but what of her? He had never dared to ask. "Did you not feel attraction to me before we were bonded?" Her eyelashes swept downward and her cheeks coloured.

"At the Institute, when you said 'It is not logical to hunt a species to extinction' it was like your voice physically touched me. Every hair on the back of my neck stood up." Satisfied, he didn't ask further. He had seen her expression. The age difference for a human with the shortened life span of her generation was considerable. Events after that had been rapid and not conducive to considered thought.

"What Nyota said was disappointing", she continued. He drew her close again. "Don't blame her, she just mentioned it in passing, she was dropping large hints about how Jim wasn't really the settling down type. He kissed her hair, trailing down to her forehead as she tilted her head back again. He pressed his lips to her soft brow, making gentle tugs on her cheek and jawline. His hand slid off her arm to her side, gliding onto her hip beneath the nightgown. Gillian moaned softly and pressed against him.

"I have decided what actions you must take as penance," he said before everything completely left his control. He pushed her away, still within arm's length but not touching him, the cloth blocking her emotions.

"First, tell me about Jim," he said, hoping he would not regret it.


	51. Chapter 51 Lies and Omissions

Wisps of Gillian's hair fluttered in the breeze, whipping against her forehead. The boat rose and fell with the swell of the waves and the salt smell of the ocean filled her nostrils. Her eyes were closed and she let the familiar sound and scent of the ocean relax her. She needed to let go of stress and think. So many problems crowded through her mind. If she could make a decision and stick with it, she could move onto the next problem.

She was considering handing in her notice at her job. She had put in for maternity leave but wasn't sure she would go back. Once she left the Cetacean Institute, she would never get her job back. Places were so competitive. There were a limited number of whales and a lot of people who wanted to work with them. Competition exceeded the level for Star ship captaincy. Most of her interns were only here for six months and the grad students were also expected to get their work done as fast as possible and leave to let someone else have a turn. Cetacean biology had always been a job you took for the love of it, not to make money. Millions of grant dollars had flowed through her hands but very little of it had been paid to her in wages. Now, she received no pay at all. With her student stipend, she hadn't known no one else was getting paid until she had finished her doctorate. She did receive her allotments of course, which she would get even if she did nothing. Food, power, basic clothing, housing and unlimited medical care were hers as they were everyone's. General credits were only required to pay for luxuries, not the necessities.

She had been plagued by an odd sense of dissatisfaction with her life for the past few years. It had taken a while to work out why. There had always been a sense of purpose to her job, the knowledge that she was doing something useful with her life, making a difference, a positive difference to the planet. That had changed since she came forward, but it took her a while to notice. Updating her education was interesting but she was always keen to be finished, she had hated being the junior again and thought getting another doctorate would fix it. By then she was involved in her research, which had enthralled her. Finding success where others had failed. Cetacean biology was a cutting edge field when she joined. There was so much still to learn. With all the probes and sensors nowadays, scientists could extract so much information at an amazing rate. They knew all there was to know about whales now. Charts to ensure proper genetic diversity had been drawn up. The whale population was booming with the floating artificial uterus Scotty helped design. She was marking time in her job and had been for a while, she just hadn't realised it while she had the hybridisation to keep her occupied. She looked at Carol, doing real research and envied her.

If she knew what she wanted, it would be easier, but for the first time in her life she didn't. It was a strange feeling. She was five when her father had taken her on a fishing trip. She had watched, enthralled as a pod of whales had played around the boat. She'd known since then what she wanted out of life. She'd had a clear goal and had put all her efforts toward attaining it. Once she'd achieved, it the self-evident new goal of updating her education had replaced it. She'd wanted Spock too, and he had fallen into her hands with little effort on her part. She still didn't know how she had gotten so lucky.

How had that situation gotten so out of hand? Her beautiful, blissful marriage that she had thought so strong was tattered and broken, due to her own actions. She had been selfish, wanting her own way, but had truly believed that Spock wanted children too. They'd been so happy, only the long separations marring their marriage and those were due to stop soon. Nothing had gone the way she had planned and she worried that she had ruined everything in her quest for perfection. What should have been a joyous occasion had devolved into a huge fight. Every time she thought about it, anger filled her. She was keeping the bond closed as much as she could, it had to be her anger and fear she was feeling, not Spock's. Jim and Leonard were connected to her through Spock, so they should not be affecting her. She couldn't think straight and it was infuriating. Jim had promised to deal with Spock, approach him when he was calmer and explain.

She sighed and a cramp tore through her abdomen, wrenching a cry from her lips. She clutched at her bump and bent forward in an attempt to ease the pain. Terry rushed out of the recording room and grabbed her arm. "Gillian, what's wrong?" The contracted muscles of her uterus relaxed and the pain eased. "Contraction," she gasped. "I need a doctor." Terry nodded and flipped open her communicator, calling for emergency services, while guiding Gillian to the bench seat. Gillian sank into its cushioned surface, trying not to panic. The contraction had subsided but the lower back ache she'd had since this morning had not. Fear washed through her in a cold wave. Not again. She didn't think she could stand it again. Panic threatened to overcome her, but she pushed it back. Action was what she needed. She checked the marital bond, pulling it closed. Spock didn't need to know this, he was worried enough. She could feel him occasionally when her shields faltered, on waking or falling asleep. At a loss for anything else to do, she stared out at the ocean as it passed by and watched Gracie breach in the distance. She let the bond between them open wide, letting acceptance flow over her. Gracie wasn't human, she had an animalistic way of dealing with things. Bad things happened and there was nothing she could do about them. It was the antithesis of the way Gillian's mind worked. She bent the world to her will on a regular basis. In this case however, she was helpless to do anything to affect the outcome. Her only course of action was to keep Spock from becoming distressed by what she had done. She gripped Terry's hand with hers as the other woman patted her and mouthed encouragement. "It's okay, it was only one contraction. It was probably nothing." Meaningless words, although she appreciated the attempt.

The Chief Medical Officer, Dr Arndt, stepped through the door at the end of the section of the research vessel, followed by a two nurses and a couple of grad students. She strode up the deck to where Gillian was reclining, medical tricorder already in hand. She stood over her, letting the scanners work. Her face assumed a more professional mask as she read the display and Gillian's blood ran cold. "Dr Taylor, there is evidence labour has begun, despite the fact that you are only twenty three weeks into your pregnancy." She turned to address the nurses. "Carry Dr Taylor to sickbay, don't let her walk." He injected Gillian with a hypo as the nurses set up the float bed and the three of them lifted her onto it. Despite these precautions, a new contraction started to curl through her. It stopped at half the intensity of the previous one and Gillian managed not to scream. They laboured over her, talking in hushed voices of the readings and their meanings. Each new contraction was smaller and further apart than the previous one but she could tell that the prognosis wasn't good. Dr Arndt had stopped the labour but determined that the cause was her body rejecting the alien child. Hours of uncertainty later, she was sent by emergency shuttle to the hospital at the Vulcan Embassy. The majority of Vulcans who had business on Earth stayed at one of the Embassies so that was where the finest Vulcan doctors served.

She lay in the hospital at the Vulcan Embassy, covered by a thin sheet. The air was hot, although they had turned the gravity down for her. The room remained silent, only the low buzzing of machinery audible, to her anyway. She had read the details of her medical condition and turned the facts over in her head. She still had time to make her decision.

The door opened with a soft swish and she turned her head to see T'Pau and her First Attendant T'Lind enter the room. Two bodyguards dressed in those ridiculous Vulcan uniforms placed a chair beside the bed and took up positions outside the door. T'Pau enthroned herself on the chair with the slender T'Lind standing in attendance behind her left shoulder. As usual, both women were dressed in formal Vulcan attire, long robes overdecorated with embroidery and ornamentation, with their hair bound up in intricate braided hairstyles. T'Lind was only a few years younger than Spock but she looked much younger, her face was unlined, if plain and severe, her straight hair a dull brown.

"Greetings, Matriarch," said Gillian. "I hope you will forgive me for not kneeling, I am under Healer's orders." T'Pau nodded, dismissing the formalities. "An apology under the circumstances is not logical and therefore not required," was the monotone reply. "I wish to read your medical files." Surprise flicked through Gillian, she assumed the old dragon already had, her authority appeared to be total within the clan. "Okay," she said and when T'Lind offered her the PADD, she initialled it, giving T'Pau authorisation. She wondered what qualifications T'Pau had before she became Matriarch.

She was still deciding between lawyer and healer when T'Pau placed the PADD back in T'Lind's hands. "What are your plans for further treatment?" she inquired.

"I haven't decided yet," she admitted. "It's a hard decision. It would be easier if there was an obvious answer." She expected T'Pau would tell her to 'selectively reduce' the second baby. It would give her the child she had tried for after all. The second baby had been one of her early failures, not expected to develop beyond a few weeks. He had kept clinging to life with determination though. Once he was an embryo, it was legal for her to use several techniques which she couldn't use when he was a zygote. She had performed further manipulation, in the end conceding and putting back the genes which influenced pon farr. They were intricately linked not just with Vulcan's psychic powers but also with the immune system. Once she had done that, he had grown well, catching up with his brother within a few weeks. It had seemed for a few months she would have not one, but two successes. Until today.

"Either would be a viable pregnancy. It is unfortunate their biochemistry is so incompatible. To kill a sentient being is an undesirable outcome." Gillian searched her face. She was good at interpreting facial expressions from Vulcans she knew, not just Sarek and Spock but the two who worked on the Yves-Jacques Cousteau, but T'Pau's face was implacable.

"What would you do in my place?" she asked, curious. T'Pau arched a brow a fraction, as if to say she would never get in so illogical a situation but answered. "Since the doctors have stopped your labour, there is still time to make a decision. If it remains stopped for five more weeks, you could surgically remove the more human foetus. It would then have a chance at life and the gestation of the other foetus could continue. It would enhance your chances of success." It was the same conclusion Gillian had reached, there was still the possibility of success. It would be a long seventeen weeks, though. She was already sick with anxiety and it worried her. One, at least should be psychic and having its mother worried like this while it grew wouldn't be helping his psyche at all. She nodded. "That was my conclusion also."

T'Pau stood, straight backed and turned to leave and Gillian begged. "Don't tell Spock, he doesn't know." There was silence for a moment, and then T'Pau said "It is disagreeable for the marital bond to be closed for an extended period of time. Vulcans leave it open all the time even if they live separate lives. If you let it open for short periods while Spock is asleep, you might find it beneficial to your mental state."

A bare moment of hesitation and she walked to the side of the bed. "I can detect your anxiety from here. It is improper for a Vulcan to comment on, but since humans have different societal rules and it is Spock's children you carry, I will make the offer. I can relax you using neuropressure." Gillian nodded acceptance and rolled to the side, she was long beyond lying face down. T'Lind pressed a few buttons on the bed, however and part of it became soft. T'Pau rolled her to her front and arranged Gillian on the bed. She did this without apparent effort, despite her frail seeming appearance. Was it Vulcan strength, or did she use the appearance of frailty to deceive people? She didn't ask, though and tried to relax as T'Pau's fingers pressed into her back, massaging and poking. As her fingers lifted, the muscles beneath relaxed and the pain eased and when she had finished, the residual pain in her lower back was gone.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "I feel better now." T'Pau responded "It is the appropriate thing to do for family members." Before Gillian could respond, she left in a swirl of robes.


	52. Chapter 52 Earlier

Jim materialised in the corridor outside Gillian and Spock's apartment. He commanded the door to open and it did. He breathed a relieved sigh, she hadn't locked him out. He entered the living room, flicking his gaze over the large picture window which overlooked the Bay. The balcony, Gillian's preferred place to work was empty, as was the kitchen. He rapped his knuckles on the office door, calling her name but got no answer, nor was she inside so he peeked into the empty third bedroom which was to have been the nursery.

He vacillated over whether to enter the main bedroom, Spock would hate it, but he was on a time limit. Gillian made the decision for him when she appeared in the bathroom doorway.

She wore a loose smock dress which cupped her breasts instead of her preferred jeans. Locks of hair were tucked behind her ears instead of bound up and her eyes were red from crying with dark circles beneath. Good, there was hope yet.

"Jim, what are you doing here?" she asked, casting a glance around the room. Looking for Spock, Jim hoped.

"Spock says you two have separated," Jim said. "So, tell me, what the hell? And what do I have to do to get you two back together?"

She ignored his question. "Isn't the Enterprise leaving today?"

"Yes, but they won't leave without me." He admitted, "Though my service record will look better if I'm not late." It was four hours until departure and there were a million things he should be doing to prepare. "Spock's been moping around the ship all day. It took me this long to get it out of him." He waited for her to ask why Spock was on the ship when he was now an Ambassador but she wasn't curious at all, she must already know.

He extended his hand to touch her bare arm but missed, she had stepped back. It surprised him, she was more careful about physical contact now, since Spock had told her how much he hated it, sorry, how it was disagreeable for a Vulcan to see another male touch his woman, but not to this extent. A faint smell tickled at his nostrils as he stepped into the space she had just occupied. She parted her lips to speak but he cut her off as the clues tumbled into place. "You're pregnant again, aren't you?"

The lie crossed her face before she started her denial. "I can smell vomit, you're wearing one of your maternity dresses…" Her nipples were more prominent, but he substituted "You have that pregnant glow."

She nodded, her head tilted back in an unspoken challenge.

"You haven't told Spock, then?"

She shook her head. "I tried," she said. "But I brought the subject up and we had an argument instead. He doesn't want me to get pregnant again." She looked downcast and Jim drew her into a gentle side hug and rested his chin on her head.

"So just call and tell him," he suggested. She set her jaw and Jim knew he was in for an uphill battle. He could just tell Spock himself, he thought, but then reconsidered. He had seen how stressed Spock had been last time Gillian was pregnant, even before what had happened. Gillian had managed to slip the first few months of this pregnancy past him and it wasn't the worst idea she'd ever had. The negotiations with Gorkon might take a month, maybe he would tell Spock after. In the meantime, they could reconcile over the comm network.

"You planned this, didn't you?" It was rhetorical question, he had read Gillian's plan to up her odds of a successful pregnancy with careful selection of both ova and sperm before manipulating the resulting embryo. She wouldn't be stupid or careless enough to have an accidental pregnancy.

"Of course I did. Rule of thumb is to rest as long as the pregnancy lasted before getting pregnant again. The doctor released me after six months." She pulled away and looked up at him as though daring him to criticise her choice.

"I'm starving," he said, moving out to the stasis unit in the kitchen, Gillian following. If he hadn't already known of her pregnancy, the contents of the unit would have been a giveaway. The two bottom shelves were stocked with ham, sliced bread and of course, Cajun chicken nuggets, although he was surprised she could stomach any of them anymore. Tucked in behind that was the probiotic pregnancy supplement she had to drink every day. A decorated cake covered with dark blue roses took up most of the top shelf but he noted the loaf of sultana bread tucked in beside a pan of lasagne on the shelf below. Gillian had prepared a celebratory meal for her announcement. He grabbed for the lasagne but Gillian interrupted. "You might as well have the cake, it's not like Spock likes it anyway." With a quick glance over his shoulder, he took out the cake and prepared two trays with napkins, cutlery and rose buds which he nipped from the bushes in one of the blue pottery vessels scattered around the room. He grimaced when all he could find was water and sparkling apple juice but he poured two wine glasses full of the juice and carried the meal out onto the balcony and set the wrought iron table for two. The iron was hot so he dropped two cushions onto the seats.

Gillian had vanished into the bathroom again and emerged wearing a nicer dress with her hair pulled back into a twist and secured with an antique hair stick Hikaru had given her. Her breath, when she sat across from him was minty. He offered the apple juice in a toast. "Congratulations on your impending motherhood." It was the same toast he had given last time but he meant it.

She smiled, which surprised him, and said the same thing she had announced last time, although she had spoken first then. "We have an announcement to make. We're going to have a baby." Her voice cracked on the last word and he could hear the tears in her voice. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, trying to make her feel his confidence "It will be all right this time," he whispered into her ear. Then he dug into the cake, which was delicious, light and moist. She picked at the cake, telling him the baby was a boy this time and telling him the due date, based on the human gestation period.

"You think it will be a nine month pregnancy?" he asked and regretted it when he eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" She pressed her hands over her mouth, stifling her sobs and rushed to the bathroom. Jim hovered, feeling useless. He could hear her dry retching but didn't know whether to join her for emotional support or wait outside.

She emerged from the bathroom and collapsed against him, limp and crying. He lifted her and carried her to the main bedroom, laying her facing him on the red bedspread and taking Spock's side, closer to the door. He removed the hair stick, dropping it on the bedside table and smoothed out her hair. "What is it?" he asked. Gillian had been a little moody during her previous pregnancy but not like this. He could feel his own gut churning as it had been for the last few days. He had thought it was Spock but being near Gillian had worsened it. Stress and worry radiated from her. It had eased a little during their meal but now it was back worse than before. He cursed his own wordiness but thought it was something more. He rubbed his hand over her back, feeling the tight muscles.

"You can tell me anything. I promise I won't tell Spock." When she spoke, her voice was so low as to be almost inaudible. "I stuffed up." His mind whirled with possibilities. He hoped she wasn't going to confess anything he would feel compelled to tell Spock. "I had some other embryos, the rejects. I didn't want to just toss them out, so I put one or two in every cycle. They just didn't work, I didn't get pregnant. Except for this time."

"You're having twins?" he asked to prompt her when she fell silent. She wouldn't be this upset if she were going to have twins with no problems. Twins were rare in Vulcans he remembered but couldn't remember why. "Maybe," she continued, morose. "I'm better at hybridology than I was. Everything I know says the foetus wouldn't survive but it did. The uterine environment seems to have triggered dormant epigenetic markers and activated genetic changes on the haemoglobin. Then I tinkered a little. I mean, Dr Chu did the procedure, but to my recommendations. And he's coming along now, he's caught up to the other one in growth."

"What's the problem?" he prompted.

She sighed. "Vulcans don't have twins often. Sometimes they have identical ones, but not fraternal, because their immune systems attack each other. It makes sense when you consider multiple ovulations must occur during pon farr to produce such a high pregnancy rate but then the mother's body must absorb the extras. So now I have two babies, both of which would have a good chance of success if I was pregnant with just one, but they're going to give me problems if I keep both of them." He frowned, that was not good. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I want to have a healthy baby, but I don't want to have to kill my own child to do it. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick." It didn't do a lot for Jim's mental health either.

"They're both viable?" he asked. She hesitated, but nodded. "Seventy-two per cent chance for the second one, according to the doctors, the ones that don't insist the baby shouldn't be living despite the evidence to the contrary." Her wide blue eyes stared up at him, asking for his advice without words.

"I always ask Spock and McCoy for their opinions first. Then I pick the third option." He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed.

She twisted her lips in a faint smile. "I don't need to ask. Spock would say it was logical to terminate the second foetus. McCoy would say not to. What's the third option, a surrogate mother? It's a bit late at this stage." He opened his mouth to urge the former choice on her. Take the guaranteed success, don't put Spock, or yourself through the same thing as last time. He opened his mouth and the words that came out were "I have faith in you. You can save them both." He hadn't meant to say that, surely the certainty of a live birth was the more prudent way to go. Then again, when had he ever taken the prudent path through life? When had she?

"I want to make it up to him after last time," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "I can't fail again."

"It wasn't your fault," he assured her. It had been a tragic accident, not like David's death, which had been because of his failure.

"Of course it was. I rang work. Why didn't I call for an ambulance while I was up? I didn't even have to be up. I could have told the computer to ring from bed. I'm so stupid." Jim knew Spock blamed himself but hadn't realised that Gillian did too. He tried to take advantage of her guilt.

"If I wait until we break orbit, can I tell Spock you're sorry and you want him back?"

She frowned, wrinkling her nose in a cute fashion. Stop it, he chided himself. "He's gotten into my bad books. You should have heard him."

"What did he say?" He tried to guess but couldn't think of anything. Spock appeared to follow his father's example of worshipping the ground his wife walked on whilst attempting to at least look like he was bossing her around.

"He forbade me to get pregnant again. Stood in the living room looming over me and said I forbid you," she forced the words through gritted teeth. Jim could feel the anger rising up inside her. When he wasn't touching her, it was rare for him to receive much, he was connected to her through Spock and Spock controlled the bond.

Oops, though Jim, bad move. Begging would have been wiser. She sounded enraged but not angry enough to end the marriage. Spock wouldn't be sleeping on the couch for too many nights if he was home and played his cards right. Not that he would. "Well he's okay now," he reassured her. "His injuries have healed quite well. You can hardly tell." She laughed, turning her face into his chest in an effort to stifle the sound. "You scared him a lot, last year," he reminded her. "You came close to dying." She'd scared the hell out of him, too.

"I don't remember," she said. "I remember feeling tired, too tired to get up to go to the bathroom. Again. I must have napped on and off all day, I didn't realise it was night until I woke in the hospital. With Vulcan doctors telling me the baby was dead and did I wish to have a vaginal birth or have a caesarean. It was surreal, like a dream, a nightmare. Then Amanda turned up and she was crying and she hugged me. I saw the tears run down her face and then I knew it was real." Her harsh breathing echoed in the silence of the room. "They'd healed the placental separation and since I was already dilated, I had the baby. It didn't take long, twelve minutes."

Jim couldn't think of anything to say to heal her pain. David's death was still an open wound, hers must be raw too. He rubbed her back to comfort her and the pain in his gut eased. She relaxed towards sleep. "I've never told anyone before," she mumbled.

Not even Spock? He thought, but did not ask. She answered anyway. "It upsets him to talk about it. He says it is illogical to dwell on what can't be changed."

"So tell me all about your job," she said. "It must be exciting, one last unexpected mission before the end. They asked for you over everyone else." Spock had asked for him over everyone else and had been shocked at his response. He hesitated. "I'm not looking forward to it," he confessed. "They've been my enemies for so long, I don't know if I can make the changeover." He kept talking, unburdening himself and receiving her sleepy replies until they no longer came. She snuggled into him and he closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow, her head curled in beneath his. He was, for once in his life, content.

"You're a good friend," she said, dragging him up from a light sleep. "So, I better not make you late."

He grinned, feeling better than he had all week. He had thought Spock was the source of his distress, it was unusual to feel anything negative from Gillian. "It was nothing," he assured her standing and brushing his uniform down.

"No, she said, sitting up on her elbow. "It means everything to me. I know you came here for Spock..."

"That's not true," he protested. "Not just for Spock."

"…but it means a lot to me that you listened." She relaxed onto her pillow again and covered a yawn. He smiled at her. "Trouble sleeping?" She nodded and closed her eyes.

"I'll lock up after myself. Have a nap, you need it. I'll keep Spock away as long as I can. And make him call you. So you can take him back." She hadn't promised to do that but he had found in his life that acting as though something would happen often meant that it would.

He walked around the bed to the mirror and checked his appearance, smoothing his hair. It wouldn't do to look like he'd been having a nap when he arrived on the Enterprise. He cast a glance at Gillian, fast asleep and slid the cupboard open, taking out a soft purple blanket which he laid over her. He eased off her shoes, dropping them on the floor and tucking her feet in.

On his way out, he liberated the last two slices of layered chocolate cheesecake from the stasis unit. Gillian couldn't eat chocolate while she was pregnant and Spock wouldn't know what it was if he sealed it well. Materialising on the transporter pad, he handed it to an Ensign with orders to take it to his quarters. He ignored the questioning looks and took his seat on the bridge, amidst the controlled chaos. Spock turned at his late entrance and raised an eyebrow at him so he sent him a bland smile in return. Okay, it might have been a bit smirk like.


	53. Chapter 53 Down The Rabbit Hole

Kirk lounged in the command chair, looking at the command crew as they performed their duties on the Bridge. He returned their salutes with a lazy wave of his arm and addressed the scarred man in the security uniform on front of him "Mr Sulu, you've had some staffing problems, I believe." All the incidents had occurred in the five days since Captain Kirk had allowed Khan and five of his Augments onto the ship. The rest remained on the 'Botany Bay', under tow as they headed for Star base 12. Sulu swallowed and replied "There have been some incidents, a few of my men have been found dead. I am investigating the cause of these so-called accidents but I have kept the roster staffed and I've submitted forms detailing my intention to promote from within to fill the gaps..."

"I've declined them," Kirk interrupted. "The men you have now have failed to find the cause of the disturbances. They do not deserve the increased rank. There will be an external promotion." He smiled at Sulu, showing all his teeth, "Khan will be your new deputy. He can't work as an engineer until he updates his knowledge, but security is perfect. He will be supplying two Augments to fill the other positions you have vacant. Talk to him, he will tell you the names." Sulu, face pale beneath his scar, nodded and slammed his hand forward in a salute. "You might ask him if he had anyone who would like a position as your bodyguard, since yours have disappeared." Sulu nodded, although he would be a fool if he did. Kirk might have gained Khan as a rival but once Sulu was dead, he would be no worse off.

"Now, is there any more business at hand?" Kirk stayed put in his seat, so there was. No one moved. They'd been waiting to find out what plots were in effect at the upper levels in order to manoeuvre their position to their own advantage.

"If I may, Captain," said Khan, who was wearing a Security uniform without rank insignia. "I would like my scientist, Dr Taylor back from Mr Spock. I appreciate her service and I am prepared to pay for her return." At the Captain's nod, he turned to address Spock with an expectant smile. "You may select anything from the cargo manifest of the 'Botany Bay' in return."

"No," replied Spock, keeping his seat and not bothering to turn to face Khan. Why hadn't Kirk confiscated the cargo? The terms of the alliance seemed skewed to Khan and Kirk would never allow that. What was he missing? Kirk and he had an alliance of long standing and it would be imprudent for him to break it for anything less than a substantial increase in power. However, it paid to be prepared for any eventuality in the Empire. There had been more than one occasion where something Spock had given low odds to eventuated. He was unsure as to whether his calculations regarding human behaviour were off or the plots had been chosen because the low odds made them less foreseeable.

"Or, if you will name a price, I can convert some of the cargo into money," Khan continued, lips parted in a genial fashion. His neck muscles were tense, betraying his annoyance.

"I have what I want," replied Spock. Fury flashed over Khan's face at Spock's refusal, but he saluted and addressed the bridge crew at large, smile in place.

"Some of my subjects are curious and would like to move to the 'Enterprise' at least temporarily. I am prepared to pay for cabin space for them. Preference given to those near the assigned cabins of myself, Joaquin and Edwards, of course, but other rooms considered." He turned a flirtatious smile on Uhura and dropped his voice into a low purr "If you would send out a ship wide notice, I would be your servant." Uhura gave Khan the same fake sultry smile she had once given Sulu and assured him in a husky voice that it would be her pleasure. After what had happened to her at the Academy, Uhura no longer enjoyed the company of men in a sexual sense but she had kept this from becoming general knowledge. It made it easier for her to fake interest on those occasions when there was no other alternative. She preferred to rely on the alliance between them, especially now that they both had rank. Most women banded together in single gender alliances but Nyota had been misled by the rumour that Vulcans were impotent except for every seven years. He had been promoted to First Officer five years earlier on Captain Pike's death and she had abandoned a flirtation with Sulu, telling him instead that Spock had made her a better offer.

Spock resigned himself to a busy day. Khan and his men, there were more men than women in his entourage, had money and rank. There would be a major shift in alliances among the crew. Since there were more men than women on the 'Enterprise', tempers would be running high as the lower ranked men lost women who were keen to trade up. All standard procedure after a refit when the crew changed en masse but it was unexpected mid mission. Since two of the murdered men had last been seen in the company of female Augments before their strangled corpses were discovered, they were less popular than their attractive appearance would suggest.

"Back to work people," Kirk ordered. After a round of salutes, they returned to their stations. Spock expected Khan to finish his dealings with Uhura but instead he mounted the steps and approached Spock.

"Mr Spock, would it be possible for you to do me a favour?" Khan smiled at him and Spock stared back deadpan. The subject of his query must be Gillian and Spock had no intention of losing her this time. "I would like to talk to Dr Taylor, reassure myself as to her state of mind. It is possible I overreached. She may be quite content to stay where she is, in which case I shall drop the issue at once." The two men locked gazes in challenge. Spock's first inclination was to refuse. Gillian would not stay with him if given a choice. She had expressed a desire to see Khan for herself, refusing Spock's assurances he was well. On the other hand, both Russ and Torel had reported her attempts to leave and bribe them with sexual favours to let her go to Khan. In response, Spock had assigned Torel as door guard whenever he was on shift as Russ might be tempted. Confirmation of Khan's health might make Gillian grateful.

"You may speak to her, to ascertain her wellbeing. No more," Spock used his communicator to summon Torel and Gillian and spun his chair around to face his station, leaving the conversation without any of the human courtesies. Khan paused before returning to his conversation with Uhura. His attention divided between processing the reports from the labs and eavesdropping on the whispered conversation, Gillian's sharp intake of breath was his first indication of her presence and he turned in his seat. A small smile played at the edges of her mouth and she bounced on her heels, looking at Khan, not him. "Gillian, you look well," Khan said, walking towards her. She knelt on the ground before Khan, gazing up at him, "I am filled with gratitude at your good health, my lord." Khan held out his hands and she placed her small pale hands in his large brown ones, gripping hard. Torel's eyes flicked to Spock at this violation of Vulcan etiquette but Spock ignored him.

Khan said, "I am filled with gratitude at your quick thinking and sacrifice. I have attempted to bargain with your captor over your release but he is as captive to your charms as the rest of us and will not give you up." Gillian nodded her head in acknowledgement and her smile faded.

"You flatter me, my lord. My charms pale in comparison to many. I cannot think why he should desire me so. There are other women on the ship who are more beautiful than I." Her tone was polite but no more and Khan's apparent happiness faded at the chiding.

"I have offered him his choice of anything on the ship. Perhaps I will have better luck in the future, once the novelty has worn off. It is possible he may exchange you for another. As I acquire more money and influence, I will increase my offer," Khan concluded. Spock would have to increase his bodyguard presence. Anyone who killed him would try to trade Gillian for the wealth Khan was offering.

"I live to serve you," she responded in a more subdued manner than when she entered the bridge. There would be no rescue for her today and she had realised it. Khan drew her to her feet and kissed her hands. She turned and stalked toward the door. Torel lengthened his stride so she followed him out of the room without acknowledging anyone else. Kirk followed her with a wistful gaze. No one on the Enterprise served him to the same degree as Khan's followers.

Khan hovered on the Bridge for the rest of the shift, annoying Sulu with his constant questions. Nonetheless, the Security Chief bit his tongue and answered them, which aroused Spock's suspicious. Sulu was a senior officer with qualifications and experience that, if he killed Captain Kirk, would earn him the Captaincy without having to sacrifice the entire bridge crew. If an ensign made the kill, the captaincy would go to Spock unless they claimed to be working on behalf of a ranked officer. The policy reduced casualties among the senior staff while ensuring that an ensign with good luck didn't gain a position they were unqualified for. There hadn't been an assassination attempt on Captain Kirk for fifty four point six one weeks. Kirk, Spock and Uhura had an alliance that had held for the past five years, Scott was uninterested in command as long as Kirk supplied his every want in Engineering, McCoy lacked the qualifications as well as the personality for Captaincy and it was rare for a Captain to come from Medical for just that reason. Now Sulu was backed against the wall and he was as likely to strike at the Captain as his new rival.

Sulu could be relied upon to harass Uhura anytime Spock left the bridge, preventing her from working at full capacity but fearing for his life made him attentive to his work. If Sulu survived Khan's coup, Spock might experiment with that information.

He sent Sulu a private message via Uhura to meet him after the shift. Uhura frowned but did not comment. Their alliance preceded the one with Kirk so she would give him time to tell Kirk before she did. She'd probably even let him kill Kirk and install Sulu as Captain as long as she didn't have to be his woman, but she didn't like it. The alliance she had tried to join had betrayed her for money. Learning that Khan not Kirk was the target of his plotting would calm her. He had watched the interaction of Khan with his followers and it corresponded to what he had read. All of them, including Gillian would be obliged to avenge Khan's death by killing his murderer. Sulu was thus the perfect assassin.


	54. Chapter 54 Conflicting Views

**Authors Note: I hate track pads. While I was checking on a detail, I noticed that I'd somehow managed to either delete half of a chapter or save an earlier version over the later one. So chapter 51 was missing about 2000 words. I tried to add everything into later chapters but decided to pull it all out again and just rewrite the chapter. **

**Apologies again for the delay. I want to update once a month but life keeps happening. The next update needs some work but the one after that is written. Thanks for reading.**

Ditagh slammed his fist onto the coffee table with a triumphant yell of "Yes." His followers clustered around him, urging on their chosen champion. The others watched the screen, disappointed. Red blood pooled on the screen and the human died, gasping. He lifted the drink to his mouth and drank down half the glass.

His hand slammed hard onto Gillian's back and she fell off the couch onto the floor, scraping her hands and knees. Pain lanced through her lungs with each inhalation. She scrambled on the ground, trying to push herself upright. Ditagh growled something the Universal Translator didn't translate and leant forward, wrapping his hand around her upper arm. He tugged and dragged her to her feet. "Uh, I apologise," he said, the Standard words unfamiliar in his mouth.

On the screen against the main wall, the political machinations of the Ancient Roman Empire continued, Klingons clustered around. "It's no problem," Gillian assured him, breathing shallow and pained. She forced a smile. "But if you could not do it again, that'd be great." She skirted the group of Klingon guards who gathered watching the show, easing round to the doorway. A large meeting room in the Vulcan embassy had been converted into a bachelor pad. Comfy couches clustered in front of the screen which was at one of the short ends. Tables of food ran the length of the long side of the rectangle, stocked with an array of finger foods and snacks. Anything she thought they would like.

To her relief, McCoy was waiting for her at the door, tricorder at the ready. Grumbling under his breath, he guided her down the hallway and into a small office where he pulled up her shirt in order to administer pain relief. His mind pressed against hers as his fingers made contact with the skin of her back. "Broken rib," he said and she felt the warm pulse as he fused the bone.

"Goddamned Klingons," muttered McCoy, not quite ready to let go of years of prejudice. Gillian took a few blissful pain free breaths. "It was an accident," she chided. "He seemed to like the show." He drew out the dermal regenerator and ran it over her hands and arm.

"Who wouldn't after what those idiots were doing to them," he grumbled. With Spock involved in pushing the ceasefire into a treaty with Azetbur, minor diplomatic functionaries had dragged the off duty Klingon bodyguards to all manner of cultural exhibits and formal meals. Gillian had ended up seated beside Ditagh, delighted to quiz him about his life on Qo'noS. As the evening drew to a close, he had mentioned his horror of the next day's planned outing to a modern art museum, so she had invited him to a barbecue instead. Intended as a way of allowing the guards a method of polite refusal, Gillian had found the job of keeping them occupied had passed to her with an ease she found amusing. They'd expected her to work alongside both Russians and Vietnamese without a word of complaint, which she hadn't minded, but they balked at Klingons. She'd enlisted McCoy to help her since he was driving Tania nuts since retiring and he was a sweetheart under that gruff exterior.

They returned to the converted conference room to find Ditagh hovering round the entrance, sporting a dark purple bruise he hadn't had before. She grinned "Well, at least I don't have to worry about being the first to make a social gaff, now," and watched him roar with relieved laughter. He followed her to the buffet where she inspected the bowls of food, some scraped dry and others untouched. The peanuts and sausages were all gone, as were the fried onions and hot dogs. All the pizza too, thankfully, since the Klingons had decided a nice cheese pizza would be enhanced by the addition of live worms. Gag. She might be giving up pizza for a few years. The olives and pickled onions, which would have vanished at a Vulcan party, were not as popular. She grabbed a bottle of beer, snapping it open and swallowing the cool bitter liquid inside.

She frowned at the empty space on the table, and tilted her gaze to the pointy eared figure standing at the back wall. H'daen, the new Romulan Ambassador had surprised her by turning up to the gathering uninvited. The disappearance of the salt and vinegar crisps was less of a surprise. Vulcans didn't have the same sweet tooth humans did but a packet of crisps placed between Sarek and Spock had disappeared in short order before they found out how many calories they'd ingested and declared them illogical. This meant that Spock would sneak them out of her bowl instead. Her annoyance at someone eating from her plate lost to the general cuteness of Spock denying that he liked them.

A faint smile twitched the corner of her mouth at the memory. Her duty as hostess clear, she moved to engage the Romulans in conversation. Ditagh stayed behind, the Klingons and Romulans were ignoring each other, which was a feat of feigned indifference. Traditional allies, the Klingons had essentially dumped their alliance with Romulus for one with the Federation. Nanclus received a polite nod and the briefest eye contact she could manage. She was still angry with him. Spock had declared her feelings of betrayal to be illogical since he was an Ambassador of a foreign nation with which they were, if not quite at war, in a very guarded situation of extended non-aggression under treaty. Gillian didn't care, she had extended friendship to him and he had thrown it back in her face. He could have said no to her invitations at any stage. He was mocking her by promoting one of his bodyguards to his position and claiming to be the bodyguard in his stead. The last laugh would be hers however. She intended to be as nice to H'daen as she had been to Nanclus. Let him think she had been faking the friendship the whole time as he had. In her experience, people were much better at dishing something out than they were at taking it.

"Ambassador H'daen," she said, smiling. "I hope you're enjoying the show." His eyebrows knit as though she'd said something strange or coded. "Yes," he ventured.

"It's where the name comes from, you know," she continued. "Humans call the Rihannsu Romulans because their society resembles that of Ancient Rome. "And of course, because we have great trouble with that 'hi' sound in your language." Most Humans just gave up and through an apostrophe in most times to indicate a gap, the same as Vulcanur. She reached forward and grabbed a handful of crisps, smiling as she did. It was a communal bowl, it didn't belong to him.

"So, how did you manage to snag the post of Ambassador to the Federation?" she asked. He'd been recalled to Romulus just before the whole Khitomer affair by his well-connected mother, thereby avoiding the scandal. That didn't explain why he was back in the same position, whatever his new alleged rank.

"I disobeyed an order from the Fleet Commander and my ship was damaged in battle. I was assigned back here as punishment while repairs are undertaken," he replied, stiffening an already straight spine. Oops.

"Captain of your own star ship at your age, that's quite an achievement." Never let it be said that Gillian couldn't find a flattering topic of conversation for any man. Their own achievements usually sufficed, even if the man in question was a long lived xenophobic alien with pointy ears. His lips turned up at the corner and he dipped his head. So there was a story there, she smiled, "How did you manage that?"

"I was a Uhlan on the ship ch'Rihan and we were attacked by Klingons…" the story started off jerky as he hid parts of the narrative but he was in full swing in a few minutes, describing how he'd saved the life of his Captain when she was wounded. By the end, she was quite entranced at this glimpse into another alien culture, especially since Romulans were the path not taken by Vulcans.

"Gillian," McCoy's voice came from behind her. He jerked his head over his shoulder when she turned, indicating Jim Kirk. His head bent over the cleavage of a tall red headed woman who was cooing over James. He shrugged in a self-deprecating manner and said "Oh, not recently, he's busy…" before cheering Klingons drowned him out again and she rolled her eyes so hard she thought she might damage them. The man had no shame, none whatsoever. She nudged Leonard back "Get him back before they make off with him." She didn't want her son abandoned in the apartment of whatever woman Kirk was hooking up with, again.

He turned to do so but Spock appeared from the entryway like magic or a Vulcan parental bond and extracted James from the arms of his namesake and whisked him off to the bedroom. The child just would not sleep. Or rather, a random bit of Vulcan DNA made him think that six hours at night was quite enough combined with multiple short naps during the day. It was twice what his father slept, after all.

She continued circling the room, checking on each of the guests. Apart from the twelve Klingons, most were young humans. Starfleet had assigned her a number of Community Service points which she was paying them. Jim had told the truth, money had been all but phased out in the economy. The credit system that replaced it was more complicated but fairer in a communist way. The government pushed people to behave the way they wanted and university placements and promotions required a minimal number of all appropriate credits, not just Education and Work. She refused to pay much to get people to attend a party and be polite. She was supplying the food, after all. And reluctant friendship was worse than nothing.

She was enjoying herself more than she'd thought she would. She was a glorified hostess but this, the alliance Spock had brokered between the Federation and the Klingons, was the most important thing happening at the moment. And she was a small part of it. Even if that part was throwing parties to a bunch of college boys. Sort of.

The crash of a body hitting the table dragged her out of her musing. The downed Klingon picked himself up and roared at his opponent. Jumping to a crouch, he bounded forward into his opponents knees. Bodies crowded in around the pair and in seconds there was a full on brawl. Someone stumbled back into H'daen, who was walking slowly backwards and he shook Nanclus' hand off his shoulder and slammed his hand into the neck of the offender who dropped like a stone. A short stocky Klingon swung at him in retaliation but he ducked the blow. He might not be as strong as the Klingon but he was faster. Gillian scrambled back out of the way, edging behind a square pillar. Noises of the fight continued, the smack of flesh on flesh and the snap of breaking plastic.

Red shirted security Vulcans poured into the room but didn't join in the fight, lining the walls with phasers drawn and preventing anyone from leaving. Some of the combatants were Ambassadors and firing on one was an offence. Within a short time, at least half the combatants were unconscious, or at least prone and moaning. To her surprise, the two Romulans were amongst those still standing although she noted with pleasure that Nanclus was dripping green blood onto his torn shirt.

Everyone stood, gazing around until the silence was broken by boisterous Klingon laughter which resolved into boasting of particularly good blows they'd landed. They dragged their fallen opponents upright and seated themselves and Ditagh wound the show back five minutes. McCoy crawled out from the table he'd hidden under, waving his tricorder over anyone who'd stand still long enough. None of them seemed to have any broken bones. He'd done some research in the past few months, autopsying Klingons and updating his knowledge of their anatomy. There was significant variation, especially between the two genetic subgroups; the ridged and smooth faced who were, not to put too fine a point on it, very similar to human Augments. Gillian had some theories about that.

She wouldn't bring James to the next evening's entertainment. Amanda would love to babysit. She might raise the payment for attending the party, too. Not for Jim though, she caught sight of him on the opposite side of the room, his face alight with enthusiasm, his fingers clenching, mimicking the Vulcan nerve pinch to the woman next to him, who was twisting her arm back and forth, testing for injury. He wasn't enjoying lecturing at the Academy as a career. He wanted danger and people trying to kill him. He could attend for free. A prone Klingon lay at his feet, still unconscious.

She stepped out onto the unoccupied balcony, to grab a few moments alone. Spock would return soon, anxious to check that she was not injured. She looked down over the staircase that led to the beach. It was not visible but she could smell the ocean. An elongated shadow with pointed ears ran up the wall. She turned, knowing it was not Spock. "Dr Taylor," Nanclus greeted her with a nod from the door, which slid shut behind him. Unnerved, she crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn't thought he would seek her out. "What do you want?" she asked.

He didn't answer immediately, stepping closer. He'd wiped his face, the blood was gone but his bottom lip was swollen. "It was not personal. I am a loyal Rihannsu. I would still like us to be friends."

"Be friends with H'daen," she suggested. They did not, as far as she could determine, associate in anything other than a professional capacity. H'daen kept a busy schedule of falling instantly in love with various human women and being suicidally depressed when they dumped him after a bit of carnal interspecies bonding. From what she'd heard, after the novelty wore off, there was nothing else to keep the women interested. Gillian's first roommate at Berkeley had been much the same. A never ending cycle of "No one had ever been as much in love as this" followed by "No one has ever been as heartbroken as I am. She couldn't even be bothered to remember the names after the third go around, for either of them.

"H'daen is an idiot," Nanclus said, his tone filled with disdain. His Standard was excellent, without trace of an accent. "I enjoyed our time together. I would be happy to tell you more about ch'Rihan." She considered stringing him along to try and coerce a confession out of him but dismissed the idea. He was a professional spy who had withstood interrogation by Federation professionals and well out of her league.

"Go buy a friend," she suggested. "I'm sure you're used to the concept." H'daen had confirmed Nanclus was also highly placed in the aristocracy, the son of an aristocrat. She walked to the door and, manners firmly in place, he stepped back to let her pass. Deny it as they would, they were kin to the telepathic Vulcans and their manners and customs showed it.

Jim met her at the door. "Just checking you're alright," he said casting a suspicious look at Nanclus.

"Fine," she said. "Just making arrangements for a hunt," she flicked her hand in the air to indicate "Retrieve" and he laughed.

"Really? You're the best." he said. "How will he do it?"

"It's a surprise," she said and they walked back into the room leaving a befuddled Nanclus behind. She told Jim some years back how her cousin Tommy had taken his beloved hunting dog for one last hunt when her arthritis had gotten too bad. It had been years since the dog had been hunting, she was too old. He had sat there and cuddled and patted her and scratched behind her ears for hours before giving her the retrieve signal. She had staggered to her feet and limped off, barking excitedly while he drew his rifle and sent her ahead to the Happy Hunting Ground to wait for him. Nyota had been horrified but Jim had confirmed what everyone knew; that was how he wanted to go.

"Do I get the cuddles yet?" he asked, his hand on her waist guiding her forward.

"It wouldn't be a surprise then," she joked back.


	55. Chapter 55 The Other End

Nyota Uhura's well-modulated voice whispered in Spock's ear. The code for anticipated military action was unexpected. Up until now, the mission had been peaceful. The Federation's decline of their offer to buy high grade military weapons had been accepted with minimal fuss. It wasn't an uncommon request. Achieving space flight took a species from being the most technologically advanced on the planet to being the least powerful species in their area of space. It was a sobering prospect. That had been the first item on the agenda and it was now the morning of the third day of negotiations. The Falians sat on the other side of the long U shaped table. Nyota and Captain Long sat at the curve with a tall pink and yellow dignitary, the Yetninj, who appeared to be a religious rank holder and his less colourful assistant who did all the speaking. A heavy layer of colourful curtains and wall hangings erected in the Federation's honour couldn't disguise the industrial nature of the room. Dull pipes and support beams tracked across the ceiling and metallic sections of the wall peeked between floral decorations. The trade table filled the end third while the transporter pad occupied the centre. At the other end of the room, a chattering group of Falians and humans inspected samples of fabric and carvings. There were no windows, although one side of the room was an outside wall, the view of the city was not considered worth wasting wall space on.

Nyota had resigned from Starfleet and was now the Senior Vice President in charge of Procurement and Delivery for Inter-Galactic Systems, a company which supplied Federation colonies. Some of the products on the information list supplied by the 'Hood', which had made First Contact had piqued her interest. Since Falor was on the way to the Norpin colony, she had become part of the Early Trade missions. Food could be grown in Federation greenhouses or artificially produced, of course, but it was an easy item of trade for the more technologically advanced Federation which didn't often need any items from a fledgling civilisation. Food, music and art were often exchanged for medical knowledge and equipment.

Her available resources already catalogued and actual negotiation and testing performed by lower ranked members of the party, Nyota had assumed the slightly distant expression that told Spock she was listening in on communication transmissions, learning the new language. She worked for Starfleet Intelligence now. Information that was not public but the core of the Enterprise bridge crew kept few secrets from each other.

He moved his fingers against the bracelet on his left wrist and watched as Gillian rose in response to his signal from where she was showing interest in the artwork and made her excuses, gesturing to her visible pregnancy. Five months along, she was bigger than she had been the first time, courtesy of the twins. Nodding and trilling, the tall graceful Falian women patted her and let her walk towards the transporter pad. The octagonal structure was surrounded by a ring of guards, alternating the red shirted Federations and dark robed Falians but they were unarmed for religious regions. It was not permissible to carry a weapon in the presence of the Yetnij. They parted to let her through, one of them extending an elongated finger to touch her abdomen, snatching it back when the human beside him shook his head.

Gillian began to fade on the edges as the beam captured her. An explosion rocked the building, throwing everyone to the floor. Even Spock was unable to keep his balance. Blue lightning crackled along the corners where the walls met the ceiling. Thin lines of metal were inlaid in the walls, acting as a form of lightning rod, attracting the power and deflecting it from the room's occupants, rendering it harmless under normal circumstances. Now, tendrils of ragged lightning traversed the space between the metal strips and the transporter pad. They danced around the frame of the structure, outlining Gillian's form. The image lasted 0.78 seconds longer than normal. As the transporter pad powered down, the energy link faded, leaving the pad dull and unpowered, the metal beams melted and sagging. The disorientation of transporter use pulsed through him. When it stopped, her presence did not reappear in his mind. His gaze dropped immediately to his wrist where green lights flashed alarms. Loud yelling erupted from all doorways. The translator couldn't capture it, but the intent was clear. Clusters of short stout grey humanoids appeared in the doorways. Armed with heavy duty weaponry, they surveyed the rooms before entering. The Falian guards abandoned the transporter pad, scrambling to take a protected position around the tall dignitary. The Federation guards took up a similar position between the delegation and the intruders. Unarmed they were a humanoid shield and most grabbed for their communicators instead.

They had been notified that there was a second sentient species on the planet but the Falians had assured them that they were technologically limited and geographically isolated. One of the items on the agenda was whether to establish First Contact with them or to declare the planet a protected one. The Falians wished to exclude the other race but did not want to endure the isolation that would come with Special Protected status. This attack answered the question and would accelerate the agenda by two and a half days.

Not waiting for the stand-off, Spock had taken the opportunity to remove the nearest computer terminal from the table and retreat to the wall, pushing Nyota before him. He accessed the signal. Increased heart rate, slowing to above normal as he watched, she was calming down. Fear bled from his system. He helped the process along, cutting the flow of adrenaline from his endocrine system. He handed the rectangular computer to Nyota, who dropped to the floor and tapped the screen with sure, rapid movements of her fingers. He opened the communicator, ignoring the chirp of an incoming call. It would be Kirk or McCoy, worried about what had happened. He could feel only the smallest trace of her presence, they would feel nothing. It was sickening, the last time she had felt this distant, she had been dying. He punched in the sixty digits of Nyota's quarters on the 'Hood'. Most people relied on the Communications Hub to patch them through but it wasn't necessary.

"Mr Scott, an unknown energy beam struck the temporary transporter pad during Gillian's transport. I need Gillian's whereabouts tracked and a team assembled to retrieve her. Uhura is attempting to boost the signal. She will send you her results." Though not an official member of the crew, Mr Scott had an even greater reputation amongst engineers than Kirk had among the Captains and he would have no trouble accessing the 'Hood' systems with their permission. The lack of it would scarcely slow him down; he had invented or adapted most of it. Alarms sounded in the background, the ship's crew were alerted to what was happening below.

"Aye, Mr Spock," came the reply. "I'll get right on that." His gaze flicked to watch the screen where Nyota worked, figures flickering over the screen in response to her finger movements. The readings wavered, coming in stronger. Raw data flowed up the screen, and he compared it to everything he knew. It was horribly familiar, leading to an inescapable conclusion. She was no longer in this universe.

The strange energy lightning crackled through the room and Nyota hissed through her teeth. The screen filled with static until the energy grounded and faded away to silence. That level of interference would prevent transportation. The transporter pad was not needed but it did make the process quicker and easier, allowing a quick and accurate fix on the person. He flipped open the communicator as the screen started to clear, tapping in Jim's number. "What happened?" was the clipped reply. He explained what he knew about Gillian's whereabouts and listened to McCoy curse in the background as Jim passed on the explanation. He wasn't loud enough to be hovering over Jim's shoulder. There must have been casualties from the attack.

Jim and Leonard had been on a tour of the building, checking out the trade goods and gathering extra information on the Falians. There was little point in trying to exit the building. They were fifty four stories up and in the centre of a city. He had seen few parks or open areas in the schematics and they did not resemble the indigenous species. Population pressure had helped drive the Falians into space. A concerted effort into their space program had given them faster than light travel which now entitled them to aid from the Federation. The only logical course of action was to gather the scattered members of their party into a defendable location and hold off the soldiers until they could be transported off planet. A third burst of the energy lightning hit the room, crackling through the dispersal system and cutting off the communicator. The intervals were identical between shots. Not the random discharge of an explosion but a systematic disruption of the electronics. Periodically successful on the Federation Duotronic computer system, it was likely that the slower Falian electronics lacked the time to regain function between blasts. He watched Uhura work and noted that while during the fourth explosion, the screen froze, the numerals appearing ten seconds later were updated. The computer was interfacing with the ship's computer system, which performed the calculations based on the instructions conveyed by the terminal. He pushed down the urge to pace, it was illogical. Jim was frustrated and trapped in the building, his drive for action bleeding over. His frustration was balanced by the calm state that came from McCoy when he was working. A flash of anger and pain, which disappeared as he moved onto the next patient, maybe he could save this one.

The dull roar of a distant explosion coincided with sharp cutting pains jabbing at his right ribs. Coldness spread outward from a point on his chest. His hand reached automatically to probe for injuries. Not his, Jim's.

"Spock, I can fix the transporter signal using the terminal and get us back to the ship," Uhura's voice attracted his attention. It would mean abandoning not just Jim and McCoy but the entire trade delegation on the surface but would allow him to continue his search for Gillian. He could sense where they were and it correlated with the expected route of their tour. If they could beam out, a retrieval squad could beam in. He nodded. Nyota passed the instructions through the terminal and, halfway between the next two energy blasts, they disappeared, reappearing on the ship's transporter pad. Beside them stood the 'Hood's Junior Communications officer clutching another computer terminal and Captain Long, who stared in a bemused fashion. "…you could use the computer to…" Long trailed off, watching the short dark haired woman beside him cross to the Transporter tech.

Spock followed Uhura off the pad with long strides, hearing the beginning of the explanation cut off by the closure of the door. T'Androma met them in the passageway. A member of his clan and thus a distant relative, she had been recommended by T'Pau as having completed Early Childhood Development Studies on both human and Vulcan children. She and another five of T'Pau's senior aides had added to their education after Gillian mentioned the qualities she was looking for in a nanny. She had no clearance but James' shrieking and crying had alerted her to problems. She stroked the boy's psi points, attempting to calm him. In her other arm, Serek whimpered without seeming to realise why. As he passed, Spock plucked James out of her arms and pushed the parental bond open. A combination of comfort and surprise caused the boy to startle into silence. A quick mind meld as he walked reassured him. T'Androma followed behind, carrying Serek. He summarised the situation for her. There was nothing he could say to explain to his son. Vulcans did not lie to their children, but would lower explanations to their level of understanding. They were too young to understand. James stuck his fist in his mouth and sucked on it, muffling his sobs. Spock didn't remove it, tucking the boy into his left arm so he could work. The sudden loss of the accustomed sensation of their mother had shocked them, but his presence calmed them. He reached Lab 3 to find Mr Scott already there, watching the calculations on the wall screen and sketching designs into the PADD in his hand.

"It'll be difficult," Mr Scott said, without wasting time on a greeting, a characteristic Spock appreciated. "It's very near where we were last time, not just the universe, but the time as well. We'll have to combine the calculations for time and alternate universe travel." Spock had suspected that Mr Scott's retirement had not been all that restful and the casual way he spoke of travel between universes confirmed what area he was researching. "They have achieved the same orbit as us?" he asked. It was the most vital part of inter universe travel. Adding Scott's innovative calculations for ship to ship transport would exponentially increase the difficulty of the calculations. The longer they took, the greater the chances of the other ship breaking orbit and the greater the odds that they would be unable to retrieve her. Or if retrieved, she would be injured. He had read the reports of the other universe and conducted interviews with the three persons who had traded places with his friends. They had been savage and brutal, had threatened physical harm to both him and anyone under his protection. Gillian would be like a kitten in a den of wolves in that universe. Her pregnancy might be an advantage, might keep her safe from assault. At least for a time, long enough for him to complete the calculations. Or it might only mean a chance of harm to his unborn daughter as well as Gillian. Of course, there was one source of protection she could turn to. His alternate self would no doubt protect her from others, for a cost. He pushed the though away before the deluge of emotions he knew would follow that thought could take root in his psyche.

A swirling feeling of light-headedness filled him before the link with Jim dropped into the idle somnolence of a drugged sleep. McCoy and his trusty Hypo Spray of Unexpected Unconsciousness struck again. He blocked the link entirely, concentrating on the figures in front of him. A guilty glance at the display in the corner of the screen using his peripheral vision showed her blood sugar rising, indicating that she was eating and he felt his stress levels drop slightly. James finally calmed down and he handed the boy to T'Androma and pushed all of his concentration towards finding a solution.

"Deliberate contact with an alternate universe which does not know of us is a felony under Subsection 5 of the…" T'Androma began to lecture. All alternate universes were currently considered to be hostile until proven otherwise.

"I will take all appropriate measures to prevent knowledge of our universe ending up in the hands of our enemies," Spock cut her off. He knew it was a felony, he just did not care. T'Androma nodded and carried the boys out of the room.

Voice prints and DNA would get them past any non-pass worded doors which would be an unexpected advantage against the residents but disguises might mitigate the information transfer and reduce any resulting charges. "You should dye your hair," he suggested to Uhura. Her looks had changed the least of all of them over the years, but her hair was streaked with silver. She would not fool someone who knew her, but she would match her ID picture if it was scanned. An absent nod was her only reply but sixteen point two minutes later, a blue uniformed Ensign entered the room and attached a wig styled to the longer hair style that Nyota had worn in 2265. He twitched in quickly stifled annoyance when she ducked in front of him to attach a small goatee. A small squeeze bottle she placed on the desk proved to be a solvent which would remove the fake beard if necessary. She dropped a small package which jingled on top of a blue and gold cloth bundle. He could not pass as his younger self as a full Vulcan could and the hood of the robe would conceal his face but it might be useful to pose as a member of the Terran Empire, so he would wear the uniform under his Vulcan robes. Reaching a place where he had to pass the calculations to Mr Scott, he locked the door, stripped and changed into the Terran Empire uniform, ensuring the robe covered the dangling sash.

The chime of the door announced Ambassador Sarek, arriving in full Ambassadorial regalia. Another time, Spock would have an emotional response to this failure in front of his parent, but now he was appreciative of his presence and nodded. Gratitude was illogical, the baby was Sarek's kin too. Sarek had not visibly aged in eighteen years and his rank would be useful in the other universe. His stress levels climbed higher as he recalculated their odds of retrieving her. Would she be in an interrogation cell, in his counterpart's quarters, in the Captain's quarters? Every wrong guess increased the time the rescue would take and reduced their chances of success. There would be no swap, if they were discovered, they would all die.

His eyes flung open as he woke. His heart was racing, his breathing rapid and laboured. He inhaled slowly through his nose until his lings were full, and exhaled through his mouth for ten seconds. Not forcing the calm by altering his body chemistry, just allowing his emotions to settle naturally after the dream. She was back with him, uninjured, despite the massive odds against it. He reached out and ran his hand down her side, feeling the closeness of their connection, letting it calm him. He spooned against her back, feeling the warmth of her body, running his hand over her bump, as she insisted on calling it. Earlier, he had rolled her onto her left side as it was recommended during pregnancy. Heavy metal pushed against his hand and Gillian's hand moved, pressing against the monitor shifting it to a more comfortable position. He and Mr Scott had devised the tracking device to keep a record of the health of Gillian and the baby. Gillian had refused to be confined to bed for this pregnancy without reason but had consented to continual monitoring, a fact which had made it significantly easier to retrieve her from the other universe. It was unfortunate that it would not fit once she was no longer pregnant. The locator pendant she wore round her neck would have to suffice.

She had decided that, "All things considered, another surgical delivery might be the way to go. I'm not sure my nerves could take something worse. Jim's certainly can't." Not that Jim's presence was compulsory but since Spock approved of the decision he didn't argue.

The dim starlight through the open window illuminated the black smudge on her shoulder. His fingers traced the ridged line of scar tissue from beginning to end. He had carved his name there with a thin bladed tricheq, painting the wound with black ink to form the ulidar, an ancient method of binding. Her name, traced in her meticulous copperplate writing, adorned his shoulder. They had settled on this ancient form of marriage to show that she was his.

He kissed the scar, letting his lips linger, then moved to the curve of her ear and even in her sleep, she responded to his touch, rolling toward him. He captured his lips with hers, touching, tasting gently, enjoying her sleepy responses. He held his fingertips to the pulse on her wrist, feeling it flutter beneath his touch.

The teachings of Surak banned not all emotion, but emotions which increased entropy in the universe. It was acceptable for him to have affection for his wife. To have the same emotion for the same woman, if she had chosen someone else, was completely illogical. Vulcans did not cope well with emotions. Stories from before the time of Enlightenment were full of such cautionary tales and modern day Romulans had to be careful not to engage the affections of unsuitable partners for the same reason. Even this yearning for her body was acceptable, with her approval. Her eyelids flickered and she nuzzled at his neck. The edges of his mouth softened at this reminder of her voluptuous nature. She did not wake fully and he pulled himself away from her. "Fine, I'll just do it myself, then," she mumbled. Past experience told him she wasn't kidding, so he hooked his hand under her knee and drew her close again.

There were still two hours until sunrise when he finally left the bed and the chill air nipped at him while he dressed, checked on the boys in the adjoining room and grabbed the packed equipment bag from the cupboard. Gillian was up and dressed by then, in the sitting room of the suite, swaying back and forth while a hoop spun around her waist. The higher gravity made it hard for her to exercise while on Vulcan but this was low impact and her doctor had approved it. He reached out and brushed her hand as he passed and enjoyed her smile. She had little time to herself these days. He added water from the jug to a powdered nutrient shake and left it on the table. "Do not overexert yourself," he said, although he had said such things before and repetition was illogical.

"I won't," she promised. "Early morning in the pool with the boys; Carol's promised to go over my dissertation with me as soon as it gets hot; your mother will take James while I have a nap in the middle of the day and you said you'd back by lunch so we can spend some family time together then if you've finished meditating. If not, I'm sure we can play hide and seek without you, so don't worry. More pool time in the afternoon and movies tonight, although if you wanted to skip them, I'm sure you can."

He padded silently down the hallway, letting himself out a door which led to the garden. The back of the fortress led into the desert, beyond a high rock wall. Night blooming flowers, some Terran, most Vulcan, shed their scent into the night as the manicured pathways deteriorated into the sparse grass in sandy soil. He had parked the small shuttle here the previous day. As he approached, a shadow separated from the side of the small craft.

"I couldn't sleep," said Jim Kirk, his voice apologetic. "I was up anyway writing my book." Gillian was going to win the bet. Jim could never sleep on nights like this. Also coincidentally, a packed travel bag nestled near his feet. Spock made the logical alterations to his plans for the day.

McCoy theorised that one of the reasons Vulcans reacted so badly to emotional stress was because they did not dream. He had worked with the Vulcan Healers to develop a specific form of meditation that mimicked REM sleep and then applied Jungian based psychotherapy and imagery rehearsal to the patient. Vulcan healers had been sceptical but there were a small number of Vulcans suffering such severe Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome that he had found five volunteers. Their symptoms had improved rapidly under treatment. Spock had subsequently been volunteered for the study. The past few years had been emotionally trying and the extra emotions supplied by the humans in the bond wore on Spock's control.

Twelve point four minutes later, Jim landed the shuttle at the co-ordinates. The two men climbed out and began picking a rapid path over the rock strewn plateau to the base of the red rock face. Spock knew the area well. He used to come here when he was a teenager, to seek the peace and solitude of the mountains. With each step further away from civilisation, he could feel his stress levels fall. It had always been so. Even the fiercest argument with his father and the accompanying emotional storm of shame and failure had fallen away when he was here. It was the one time he could shed the constant pressure and expectations of his position. The one place he could simply be, without everyone watching him and waiting for the slightest sign of non-perfection that they could use to vilify his father's decision. There were other hybrids but no one of such rank as he, once he was declared his father's heir. He had never met any before he enlisted in Starfleet. Sarek had kept him apart from them as though humanity was catching. Which, it seemed, it was.

It had the same effect on him now. Valeris was imprisoned a two hour flight North of here but his guilt over his actions was more distant now, seemed less relevant to his survival. He would have to deal with it one day, but not yet.

He climbed, shifting his weight from foot to hand, reaching for the next foothold. It was an easy climb he had done often in his early teens. He made allowances for Jim's shorter stature and the greater pressure of gravity. They climbed without speaking, although Jim's laboured breathing was audible below him. It was still dark when they reached the gap in the rocks which looked over the plateau below.

He had returned here, to his roots, after the first five year mission. He had been emotionally compromised by his experiences. It had been a relief to come here, to the unchanging desert of his childhood. To live simply and without fear, to lay down the bonds of friendship that opened him to so much emotional pain and stress, to destroy the affection he had for Nyota. He refused to call it love. He had needed the time to find balance within himself. He couldn't do that now, he had responsibilities. Of course, he doubted he could continue the way he had been either. The odds of his suffering from a breakdown were too high. He was here, ostensibly so his daughter could be born on Vulcan and McCoy could test out his theory, in reality for a rest time where he could repair his shattered psyche, work only on small tasks for his father for people he had never met and was not emotionally invested in. This left him large amounts of time free to walk in the desert and meditate, to regain his calm.

He had the bag opened and the tripod set up by the time Jim caught up with him. Wordless, he tossed the cover onto a flattish rock to his left. Jim sat on it, watching while he oriented the camera by memory for the best composition. He finished with five minutes to spare and pointed out the names of the major rock formations, motioning into the dark. Jim gave desultory nods, an indication of how unwell he still was. His complexion was an unhealthy grey and his breathing was still not settled despite the triox capsule under his skin. The t-shirt and jacket he wore covered the long scar from the chest wound he had sustained on Falor 2.

Heat and light poured over the horizon, chasing away the chill and he photographed the landscape during the rising of the sun, as the reds and oranges filled the greyed outline. Twists and curls in the ancient rock strata drew the eye along the canyon walls and they joined together in the path of some long dry river which no longer even bore a name. White clouds on the horizon melted as the force of the sun heated them into vapour, leaving the blue sky framed by the rocks that sheltered them. Scrubby silver green trees clung to the wind torn outcrops.

They were protected from the full heat of the day by the protective arrangement of the rocks around them. It was a comfortable position for a Vulcan to stay in during the day, somewhat warm for a human. He took pictures for a further half hour, although the light was wrong, until he was sure Jim was recovered. McCoy was going to yell at Spock enough for letting Jim come.

"Would you care for a game of chess?" he asked. Both men preferred using the physical pieces but he had a holographic set in his possession.

"Avoiding the battle, are we?" smirked Jim. There had been some…spirited discussion… between Amanda and Gillian over what and how many presents the boys would be permitted on the occasion of their first birthday. His mother had attempted to purchase every single item available in the Federation for a child's first three years of life when they were born. In duplicate. Spock said nothing, activating the game's data crystal and taking the white pieces. He won the first game and Jim the second. He reset the game and made his first move.

"Any news on how the war is going?" Jim asked.

Spock shook his head. "Not well. They have assembled a second diplomatic team to replace us. They are in orbit over the planet but have not yet been able to obtain permission to land. There appears to be no consensus in the government. They launched missiles at the 'Hood' two days ago. There was no risk, of course, the missiles were easily deflected by the shields. It has added fuel to the isolationists' arguments, however. They fear the power of the Federation." His fingers slipped through the hologram but the piece did not move. He tried again, lower this time and it flickered, reappearing near his fingers. The set had been a gift from his father. It was handy for travelling but he preferred the reliability of a physical set.

"We can't go back, then?" Disappointment laced Jim's voice. "No. The Yetninj has declared us inauspicious. Furthermore, surgery is taboo under their religion so you would not be allowed back on the planet since they saw your skin pierced and thus your soul also. If they were told of the Fal-tor-pan, there is a 98.57% chance I would be seen as polluted also. We shall have to wait for reassignment." He knew Jim was disappointed, fearing that it would not come.

Slowly, they made their way down the hillside, the shade of the cliff protecting them from the heat. Jim's face had flushed red by the time they reached the bottom but their pace had been slow, so he was not winded. McCoy would force him to rest in the middle of the day when it became uncomfortably hot and he could develop the holos. He was making trips to all his favourite spots near his home and intended to share them with her. It also fulfilled her suggestion that he take up a hobby that his father did not share and could not criticise.


	56. Chapter 56 Cut and Dried

Darkness greeted Jim when he opened his eyes. He rolled to the side of the bed and stifled a groan when his stiff body refused to obey his commands. He stood and stretched until the stiffness vanished. He'd hoped the warmer air of Vulcan would have helped with that problem and left the temperature at ambient. He'd slept well, he always did when Gillian was sleeping, it was a pity she was such a lark. Feeling his way around the room by memory, he picked up his pants from the floor where he'd left them in a crumpled pile and tossed them in the laundry cupboard on his way to a shower. He leaned against the shower stall, letting the sonic waves wash over him without removing his shirt. They helped to relax his muscles as well as clean off the sand and sweat. He ordered the lights to rise slowly enough to let his eyes adjust. The modern sandstorm shutters sealed the ancient stone window openings against the afternoon light as well as particulates. Bones had inserted a subcutaneous pain relief capsule under his skin and he shuddered to think what it would feel like without it. The elasticised waist helped but it still took a bit of hopping and support from the wall to get his clean pants on. He had overexerted himself this morning and he wouldn't be getting any more pain relief without admitting his error and getting a lecture first.

Once his breathing was steady he wandered out to find some company. The reddish stone passageways and stairs were empty, allowing him to turn sideways as he took the steps two footed, regretting that he turned down the offer of a room on the first floor. Nyota's voice conversing with someone drew his attention as he approached the sitting room. He moved closer, recognising Christine Chapel's voice. Nyota was using the comm network for a real time conversation. Sarek had given her permission to take advantage of the system. Gillian and Carol were seated either side of Nyota on the couch with the screen set facing them. Desks, chairs, computers and ancient documents decorated a small office through the archway on the left, a baby fence blocking access, keeping Serek from a string of ribbon that fluttered in the air beyond. He hadn't quite realised this, his chubby arm stretched through the bars of the fence, waving a good arm length from his goal. Amanda sat on the floor beside him, trying to gain his attention with a toy.

"I love what you've done with the place," he said, grabbing his discarded jacket from a hook on the wall and shrugging it on. All the artwork and wall hangings had been removed, leaving large stretches of bare red rock walls and the floor was padded with cutesy baby rugs but the air conditioner had been set to cool the section of the building so it felt like winter in California. James was standing with his head pressed against a flat panel in the wall from which the faint sounds of Eric Clapton's Layla was playing. Gillian patted the seat beside her and he squeezed in between Nyota and Gillian and waved over the interstellar distance.

"Elaine got her acceptance letter yesterday," Christine replied in response to whatever had been said before, drawing a round of congratulations. Christine's daughter had applied for the Starfleet Medical Division as both her parents had before her.

"One down, one to go," she added. Her son Alec was fifteen and wanted to be a pilot.

"What are you going to do when they're both out of the house?" asked Gillian. Christine shrugged, "I might try for some ship duty again."

"You could apply for the 'Excelsior'," commented Jim. "Sulu has a few Vulcan's on board; he'd take Jeffrey in a heartbeat. You'd have to do different shifts, but you could be together." Christine looked thoughtful at that.

Christine wanted to see his scar so he stood and showed her the scar on his side where the support beam had punctured his lung during the explosion. Doctors were ghoulish like that. He was growing a new lung in situ but had yet to have the entry wound removed. The conversation drifted to what topics Elaine should take, until a beeper sounded and Christine had to leave for work. Nyota flipped open her communicator, frowning at the display. "Anything wrong?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied, but he could tell she was a little peeved. "Scotty hasn't replied to my latest message."

He patted her shoulder. "Probably got his head buried in an engine somewhere. Some antique thing he thought was decommissioned years ago." At least Scotty would have the sense to apologise afterwards, not defend his position on the grounds of logic.

He could send a message rather than call while Sulu was on duty but stepping over the baby fence would cause pulling in his chest and he wasn't sure he'd be able to fake wellness.

Smiling at Nyota he said "Bring up Sulu for me, would you?"

She stood, flashing him a cheeky grin and said "Captain, open your own damn hailing frequency." Waited to say that one for a while, hadn't she?

Crossing the room with long paces, Nyota stepped over the fence in one fluid motion, exposing a length of firm leg as her skirt rose up. She sprayed her hands and swivelled the chair, resuming her work at the console. Symbols floated over the screen as she transcribed whatever was on the scroll. He recognised them as High Vulcan, but couldn't read them. Except for something about the grain yield which was so exciting it required a notation. Serek burst into tears at the sight of her on the other side of the fence, letting go of the bars and dropping to the floor. Gillian put down half a sock and levered herself off the couch to retrieve him. Jim took the opportunity to bolt. Amusing as it was to listen to conversations that went "The mammalian genome required a different formulation of the compound to stabilise it…give Auntie Carol a kiss…ta…cutie pie…due to the less volatile nature of the bonds which may explain the reason Spock's body regenerated while the bacteria…" high pitched screaming got on his nerves. He'd send the message later.

Sarek had ordered the small suite of rooms partitioned off and kept at the lower temperature, the kitchen, dining room and two offices, one of which had been converted into the lounge area where most of the humans spent the day. It wasn't that hot inside the stone building and it certainly didn't need to be cooled quite this far but he'd noticed that both Amanda and Gillian were more fully clothed in the cool temperature and assumed that was the reason.

"…going to Shi'Kahr for the hearing in three days, so I thought I'd attend the lecture on that day," said Tonia. Turning her head from Bones, Tonia smiled at him before returning her attention to her husband. "There are still spaces available. Then in the afternoon, we can do a few hours sight-seeing." A trip to the market explained this mornings' absence. Bones had spent the night at the hospital but was usually home by 0900. Jim hadn't seen him this morning. Bones gave her a meaningful smile. "Everyone else can come back here. I think we should take the opportunity for an overnight trip. We have enough time before your next mission."

Sliced bread, chicken, lettuce, tomato and a variety of condiments lay on the table and the two of them worked in harmony to assemble sandwiches on a platter. He pounced, if he never ate ham for the rest of his life, it would be too soon. Sarek's cook made the evening meal and they ate in the massive formal dining room but he was tired of vegetarian food.

Jim lifted the bread on a couple of sandwiches until he found one without tomato. He was allergic, not fatally but enough to give him an unpleasant rash on the back of his throat. Antihistamines made him sleepy and nauseous. He took a big bite and chewed, pulling the chair underneath him as he sat. "Hey," Bones protested, but making no real effort to save the food. Bones sliced the array of sandwiches on the table from left to right and stacked them on the platter, then laid out another two rows of bread. On the opposite side of the table, Tonia added sliced chicken to the bread.

"So, how'd you sleep last night?" Bones asked. There was no point in avoiding him, he would just ask anyway. "Not well," he said. "Very disturbed, I woke several times. If I dreamt, I don't remember it." A lie, he'd stayed awake deliberately. He woke from nightmares often enough that he didn't need to deliberately induce them. He could do without the constant attempts to poke around in his head, too. Bones sent him an irritated look. "What about just now?" Bones asked in a too casual voice.

"Lay my head on the pillow and the next thing I knew it was five hours later," he replied. It was nothing less than the truth. It had been years, decades since he'd slept that well. It was his private theory why Michael Taylor had not suffered from PTSD after years at war. If you could sleep uninterrupted at night, you could face anything the world threw at you. He had, he admitted to himself, become rather short tempered in the last year, but after two weeks of good rest, he was calm and mellow. As soon as he was healed, he would be ready to jump back into it.

"Visitor requests permission to enter," the computer's voice recited in Vulcanur. Bones and Tonia followed him out to the entryway, where they were joined by Carol, Nyota and, from down a different passage, Spock, who took up position at his side. The door opened to reveal a young Vulcan delivery man holding a box in his hands. "Nyota Uhura?" he asked and she held up her hand to indicate her identity. "This is for you." She signed the PADD he offered and accepted the parcel. With a brief nod, the messenger exited the house, uninterested in the contents. Everyone else waited. Sending parcels via Interstellar Courier was prohibitively expensive.

Nyota removed the lid, peering inside. From inside, she withdrew a smaller shiny black box topped with a deep red bow. He reached out and snagged the outer box, freeing her hand. She slid her fingernail under the lid and it popped free. The sides of the box dropped away, falling open like the petals of a flower. Like the rose that sat central to the box. Deep red, half open and fragrant, it was nearly as beautiful as the smile that dawned across Nyota's face. She lifted it inhale the scent, half closing her eyes as she breathed in. Silver glinted as she raised her hand, pushing back her hair and sliding the clasp through with her other hand, leaving the flower as ornament in her silver tinged dark hair. She slid the note that was folded under the rose into her bra.

Carol sighed. "Beautiful," she said in an envious tone of voice.

Spock turned in his direction. "My mother has a rose garden. I am sure she would have been happy to give one to Nyota. There was no need to have one sent from Earth."

"No. That's what makes it such a good present," Jim tried to explain. "It's something she wants, not something she needs."

Spock gave him an uncomprehending stare. "It is romantic?" he guessed. McCoy rolled his eyes. Spock still had trouble with some concepts. He had brought Gillian chocolate for their first Valentine's Day and when she liked it, bought ten more boxes and kept them in the stasis unit. It was more logical than ordering a separate one each year. At least it was until he arrived home after a mission to find she had eaten three of them and cited the First Rule of Chocolate as her defence.

"Yes," said Jim, getting in before the arguing started. He followed Nyota back into the lounge, ignoring the irritated "We've been over this, you cold blooded…" from McCoy that followed him down the hall. Nyota was sitting on the couch beside Gillian, modestly allowing the other women to ooh and aah over the flower but still unable to stop smiling.

He picked up Gillian's abandoned knitting, idly reading the label before he sat down on the free end of the couch. "Ooh, socks for me?" he asked. "No. They're for Spock. See… Princess sole," said Gillian, pointing. He had no idea what that meant, except he knew she made Spock nicer things than she made him. Nicer according to some internal definition that made no sense to him but soothed Spock's allegedly non-existent ego. They tended to be plainer, the patterning hidden by his shoes which kind of defeated the purpose.

"Spock doesn't use silk, he's a vegetarian," he said. She rolled her eyes, "I'm not asking him to eat it, just wear it."

He couldn't think of a specific incident to refute her, Spock mostly wore a uniform of some sort, Starfleet or Vulcan, but he thought he was correct. "I don't think Spock would wear something that animals had to die for," he said.

"Insects," she said. "And you're wrong, we happen to own a silk coverlet."

Spock's entered the room at her statement, trailed by McCoy. "The one on our bed now?" he asked, picking up the conversation as though he'd been a part of it.

"Of course," Gillian said. "It's the warmest." Spock rose from his position and left the room. Gillian raised a questioning eyebrow. Trapped in the beginnings of what could be a major domestic, the others turned their attention to whatever they were doing. Tonia smoothed back Nyota's hair and Nyota took the opportunity to tap the communicator in her manicured hand with practiced movements, sending a return message. James sent the block tower Amanda had just built crashing to the ground and she clapped and began the rebuild. Serek sat on Gillian's ankle and she crossed her legs and bounced him up and down, counting to ten.

Spock returned with a bundled up quilt, the cover pulled back to expose the silk fibres. "I will not sleep under this." He said, moving through the door to the kitchen, where the recycler waited.

"Getting rid of it won't bring them back," protested Gillian. "I promise I won't buy another one." Spock must have felt the need to make a point, scrunching it up to fit it in and cycling it through.

"I'll buy you a replacement," he said, moving to the padded chair that was Amanda's on those occasions when she wasn't on a cushion on the floor and letting James clamber onto his lap. To Jim's surprise, this seemed to end the discussion and Spock attempted to teach James the scientific names for the joints of the finger. James, unimpressed, stuck his distal phalanx up Spock's nose.

Discussion moved to picking the night's movie which was a chore, though less of one than when he thought Amanda and Sarek would be joining them. Vulcans did not like to apply stress to their emotional equilibrium without cause and thus did not like movies which provoked strong emotional reactions or with lots of violence and sex, which pretty much eliminated everything good. Fortunately, Spock had been banned from picking movies after the whole 'Joy Luck Club' incident which ended with Spock holding Gillian's hair back while she vomited in the street outside the movie theatre. Scotty wasn't here which meant no one was going to suggest a martial arts movie. Carol would watch anything with lots of explosions and Nyota was easy-going. Gillian, on the other hand, had excellent taste in movies, preferring good visuals and lots of action. Her ban for choosing three movies in a row where the guy's wife died was over too, so she would vote with him and Carol and he would veto anything with Zombie or Nightmare in the title.

They were halfway through "Supreme Vigilante", when the lights went on, revealing Sarek at the door. Lady Amanda at his side, he stood sombre and grim faced and waited until silence fell over the room.

Sarek spoke, "Captain Uhura…Nyota, I have received official notification. The vessel on which Mr Scott was travelling has failed to make a scheduled check in and been reported missing." Nyota's eyes went wide and her bottom lip trembled but she and nodded and said "Thank you for telling me, Ambassador Sarek," in a voice that didn't quaver. Carol hugged her, murmuring "It will be all right" and Gillian reached to touch Spock's hand, before leaning to give Nyota a hug.

Nyota forced back her tears and stood, crossing the room to take the PADD from Sarek's outstretched hand. It would contain the official information released by Starfleet, the last known whereabouts of the ship and the last communications. It wasn't unusual for subspace disturbances to cut all communications from a ship, interrupting the ping, so no one had been concerned until the six hour mark. Communications sent to re-establish contact had met with failure.

"I need to find him," she whispered. Whoever had been sent to find the ship, they would not be as good as the crew of the 'Enterprise'. They might miss something that could be the difference between life and death. If the ship had been found, she would not feel the need to go herself, but the not knowing, the wondering of what if, would drive her mad.

"I'll call Sulu," he promised. He had proven he would take Jim's word and come when needed. He'd come for Nyota.

"You may use the Ambassadorial scout ship," offered Sarek, possibly due to something Amanda did behind the cover of taking his arm in hers.

"I'll help you pack," said Tonia, taking Nyota's arm. Startled into action at her touch, Nyota turned from where she'd stood frozen and staring at the scant information on the PADD and the two took off down the hallway, quick and efficient, back in work mode.

"The boys can stay here," offered Amanda, looking at her son.

"Gillian will be staying here, it might not be safe," said Spock, gaining a radiant smile from his mother. Anything that could take out a Federation ship was not something to be taken lightly. Expecting an argument, Jim shot a look at Gillian and received a rueful glance in exchange.

"I promised Spock the most boring pregnancy ever," she said. "He's still trying to hold the whole alternate universe thing against me. That was **not** my fault and had nothing to do with the pregnancy."

"You did promise not to leave Vulcan without my permission while you are pregnant," said Spock. "And I will hold you to your promise." He turned to his father, "We shall leave orbit in 28 minutes." Spock turned to Bones, "Doctor, are you coming?"

Bones shook his head. "I have patients to tend to. You shouldn't need me. Tonia has to leave for San Francisco by next week. You won't even be there by then."

"I'll be ready," Jim said and silence descended.

"Jim, you are not well enough," protested Bones. Jim ignored him, this was important.

"I will not sign off on allowing you to go," Bones continued, as though that would make any difference.

"He is your doctor, Jim," said Spock. "It is illogical not to take his advice." Was he truly not aware that Bones had exaggerated his injuries in order for Spock to have time to heal? He would do for Jim what he would not do for himself. He'd always assumed that, on some level Spock was aware of the deception. It shook him a little to find that the flawless Vulcan could be less than flawless, that he was here on Vulcan because he was at the end of what he could handle. Spock should stay behind and get better. Carol would have to stay. She needed Federation permission to travel. She could stay here at the heavily fortified Ambassadorial residence, without a specific bodyguard but would need a full complement of guards and an endorsed ship to leave.

"Be reasonable. Why? I've built a career out of not being reasonable. It will be another week until they reach the coordinates. I'd be well by then." He ranted and raved in the face of Leonard's sympathetic calm.

"It's over, Jim," said Gillian. "Concentrate on getting better for the next mission. You're laid up for this one."

"But what if…" he scowled down at her.

"If nothing." She cast a precautionary glance at the doorway and continued in a low voice. They aren't going to find anything. If the ships already there haven't they won't either. It's just to make her feel better." She frowned, "Actually, someone sympathetic would be a good inclusion. Are you sure you can't postpone your tests, Leonard. Concerned, meaningful comfort isn't Spock's strong point." To put it mildly.

"I will go," They turned toward Sarek, noticing T'Para behind him. She was a geologist, if he recalled correctly. Into the silence she added, "I have lost two husbands, which is more experience than anyone else here." Except him, Jim protested silently, he had lost two women he cared for and his brother. He didn't mention it, though.

Vulcans were always awkward when they discussed emotions. Rigid posture and severe mannerisms couldn't disguise her mild embarrassment that she had just volunteered to talk about her emotions with a human.

Gillian smiled, "Excellent, that's that, then. You three can go and search. Jim might follow later if his travel restrictions are lifted." He scowled at her and was going to ask who restricted him and remembered whose house he was staying in.

"He'll miss the boy's birthday and might miss even miss the birth," he protested. If he could get one of them on his side, his position would be stronger. Bones was hard to budge on medical issues.

"Well, if he does, he'll pay. See if I name the baby Spockette then." The chuckle just forced its way out then. She was kidding, she had to be. Maybe Scotty would be the namesake this time. Ugh, Montgomery? Was there a female equivalent to Scott?

It was all over then and quiet and efficient. Nyota and the two Vulcans packed and downloaded data. Gillian poked around, packing Spock some extra clothes and snacks, and insisting that he kiss and hug the boys ignoring his protests that they were asleep and wouldn't remember. They were, of course, ready minutes before the transporter of the 'Surak' beamed them aboard.

He stared at the empty space where they had been. "Don't sulk, Jim. Just think of the fun we can have. We can have a Die Hard marathon without me having to pretend I'm not drooling over Alan Rickman. We can watch Blazing Saddles without Spock being confused in our direction," Gillian coaxed.

He scowled at her. He still wasn't happy. "We're not watching Die Hard 4, it's horrible," he said. He could feel Bones trying not to laugh, not through the link so much as long association.

"Okay," she soothed.

"Can I have his socks?" he asked. "Nooo," she said in a mock offended voice. "But you can have a massage." She matched her actions to her words, rubbing her fingers against the tight muscles in his shoulders. He nearly cried as the stabbing pain gave way to relaxation. The pain eased as he processed her earlier words. He was gone. Montgomery Scott, Starfleet's greatest engineer. Part of the Starfleet's most famous and successful crew. Jim wasn't so egotistical as to think their success was solely due to him. He had the best people behind him and Scotty wasn't the least of them. His genius had gotten them out of more than one tight spot.

"He never spoke down to me," Gillian said from behind him. "Not even the first time we met in the Bird-of-Prey. He just explained everything in simple language. When we were crashing onto Earth, he just kept saying that we were in the hands of the best pilot he'd ever met and that Sulu could land even a Klingon bucket of bolts without power. Then he had to explain what a Klingon was, of course." Jim laughed; a brief pained sound.

"I thanked him for his kindness and he quoted Mark Twain at me. 'Never refuse to do a kindness unless the act would work great injury to yourself, and never refuse to take a drink - under any circumstances.'

There was silence then and Jim felt he ought to say something. What would be enough to encompass Scotty's life? 'The quality of a person's life is in direct proportion to their commitment to excellence, regardless of their chosen field of endeavour,' he quoted in the end. "And I've never met anyone quite as committed to excellence as Scotty. Engineer, Captain, friend, he excelled at all of them.

"I'll drink to that," seconded McCoy.

He let her lead him back to the lounge, where the other humans and Sarek had gathered. They avoided commenting as she guided him into the couch, bending with some difficulty, to tuck a blanket round his feet. He should make her get him a beer, but he was off alcohol for medical reasons. He could still have some fun, though.

Lifting his hands above his head, he clapped twice. "Gillian, some freshly squeezed orange juice." He could hardly keep his face straight at her facial expression. Outrage and surprise warred with her desire to choke the life out of him. She spun on her heel and went to the kitchen. Stern silence filled the room until McCoy's laughter started a cascade that engulfed the room.

"Jim, you like to live on the edge," McCoy choked out between gasping fits of the giggles. "Having withdrawal symptoms from someone trying to kill you?"

"It was a favour to Spock," Jim protested. It had been the whim of a moment but he wasn't going to admit that. "In case she was having the urge to jump me while I was sleeping." Sarek's bemused expression gave way to a Vulcan scowl. Vulcans had no sense of humour on certain subjects. Jim really shouldn't but sometimes he couldn't help himself.

"I think you succeeded. She's not even going to want to talk to you," said Carol. The sound of the juicer surprised even Sarek into turning his head towards the kitchen. Gillian carried a single tall glass of freshly squeezed apple juice and placed it in the drink holder nearest James T. Kirk, standing over him with an expression which screamed Take That. Jim sipped at the juice and, tempted beyond his powers of will said "This isn't very cold, did you use the apples in the stasis unit and not the ones on the bench?" This goes to show, you can't actually wish people dead, especially if you are short and cute.

"Keep that up and we won't take you with us," Gillian said in an arch tone. She tucked her feet under herself in the large chair, reaching her arms out to Serek, lifting him onto her lack of lap.

"Take me where?" Jim asked. He kept his tone casual, even though her knowing smirk was making him curious. Gillian and Carol exchanged 'I know something you don't' glances, further piquing Jim's curiosity. He had thought for months that those two were up to something. They were keeping quiet. Leaking details about the Genesis Project was a treasonable offence – if it could be proven. He flicked his gaze around the room. No one else knew either.

"It's a secret," teased Carol. "But we'll tell you the details if you can guess right." Jim groaned inwardly. He could never guess what Gillian was thinking. Tempted as he was to blame growing up in the twentieth century, he was pretty sure she was just strange and didn't think like normal people.

"Gillian's leaving Spock and you two are running off together," he guessed and they both laughed and shook their heads.

"Buffalo." Across the room, Sarek had spoken. Everyone turned to face him, surprised. Level A-7 computer skills, Jim thought. And the passwords to all the computers in the Fortress would help too. "American Bison, to be technically correct."

Gillian's pout dissolved into a wide teeth baring smile. "Correct."

"Buffalo are extinct. Hunted to extinction," said Jim. As whales had been before they had travelled to the past for breeding stock. He couldn't draw his next breath as the implications flooded him. Time travel, extinct animal experts, genetic population researchers…hope flooded him. He had burnt his bridges with Starfleet but the Terran Science Institute was a different entity entirely.

"An expedition to the past for a breeding herd of buffalo and sufficient samples for a viable population," he guessed.

"Not just buffalo, the 1800s are populated with hundreds of extinct species," Carol said. 'If we had a large enough ship, we could resurrect hundreds of species. And do a lot of field research."

He was staggered at the scope of their idea. "Where would they all go?" Large urban areas covered much of the United States. There were small examples of most ecosystems left but not many.

"We have put in an application for environmental expansion," said Gillian. "They'll pay for everyone to move out and raze the buildings, allowing expansion. Not just the plains, but all the habitats under separate applications. Spock did a statistical analysis for us. Smaller projects are worth more points when weighted. If you add an overarching project which folds several smaller projects into its conclusion it keeps all those points as well as its own and leaps up several places. Gaseous anomalies," she said pointedly." It would mean several years of waiting but they knew that. There would be a lot of preparation for a project of this scope.

He realised what he would need to do. "Coincidentally, I have been meaning to learn to speak another language." Apache perhaps, or Cherokee would go nicely with his skills in hunting and skinning. With his past career they would be hard pressed to find a better candidate. Not that he could pass as a Native American, his small amount of Ho-Chunk ancestry wasn't visible but he could be a trader.

"What ship are you taking?" he asked. His fingers itched to see it. There was so much to organise. Anthropologists would want to be on every continent, biologists would be capturing samples of all types of land and sea animals. Historians would want to venture into anonymous contact to obtain historical artefacts in areas which were slated to be destroyed.

"Not sure," Gillian said. "Unfortunately, the guy who was going to design for me is suddenly unavailable. I don't know how far he got. It's likely to be a huge barge of a thing," she warned. He nodded absently. He would Captain a garbage scow if necessary, a slow heavy ship to the past where they would need to stay for months. Sign him up.

"Perhaps you could do a little more research into the time period," suggested Gillian. "I know you like to fly by the seat of your pants but really…'rice picking accident'… that was pretty lame." Bones snickered behind him. He shot her a quelling look. "I don't prefer to fly by the seats of my pants, I just happen to be good at it. I usually do lots of research. It's just the times when I don't that people like to hear about."

"Show me," he demanded. His fingers were nearly itching to get hold of the details.

She shook her head "You'd ask too many questions and I can't afford to be distracted. I've got my dissertation defence next week to prepare for, and the hearing. Probably one will cancel the other out but that's better than the alternative." He could feel his own eyebrow rise up at that. He had thought her attempt at a third doctorate, this one in Human/Vulcan hybridisation was a manifestation of competitive nature or an attempt to outdo Spock's previous girlfriends not a calculated strategy. She had been accused of using illegal genetic engineering on James and had requested the hearing be moved to Vulcan. They could indeed strip her of a doctorate for the crime, but she would still have two remaining.

"What about Serek and James?" asked Amanda. She was clutching Sarek's arm as though finding it hard to stand, her other arm drawn across her body.

"There will have to be very precise calculations," Gillian admitted. "Spock will insist on that. But it will be a large, diverse assignment and their friends can come too."

"What friends," asked Jim? The boys were too young to have friends as such and had moved around a bit.

"You'll see," said Gillian, looking amused.


	57. Chapter 57 Mad Hatter's Tea Party

"He is coming to my cabin at 2000 hours tonight to discuss some special requests he would like to make," Uhura reported to Spock about Khan. "He has realised that he will need allies other than Kirk if he wants to be other than a high placed lackey." Khan would have access to data from the security section but was unlikely to be able to access the communication network after a three hundred year knowledge gap. The security protections placed on it by Uhura were highly sophisticated.

Spock inclined his head. "He will most likely be early. It is the custom of military officers of his time. It will look natural if you stall him at the door for a few minutes. Plead an untidy room or a similar excuse." She was better at human interactions than he but she nodded agreement at his suggestion. She would make the necessary adaptations.

"I have told Reyes that the position is hers if she does it right."

Spock nodded in his turn. He kept a tight rein on his subordinates in Science, allowing no slacking off and clamping down on violence. If his crew wanted to make arrangements for special favours, he didn't care but he did not allow failed attempts at assassination or assaults in his division. They were not good for performance and bought him some measure of loyalty, such as it was, from his underlings. Reyes was in Security and Sulu did not check his men. As long as the shift was covered, he did not intervene. Reyes had no Science background but she would transfer to an entry level lab tech position. It would be her last promotion unless she studied. He had meant the position for Gillian, but had been re-evaluating that decision. One of the Augments had killed his lab tech and Spock had denied him the position. The man had shouted and complained but given in too easily, leading Spock to believe that Khan intended the position go to Gillian, giving Khan better access to her. She was not ready, anyway. He would not let her roam the ship until she at least pretended loyalty to him.

His communicator chirped an alert from Torel. He flipped it open "Acknowledge,' he said in Standard. If he'd been alone he would have used Vulcanur. "Mr Spock, Captain Kirk has entered your quarters. I told him you were not present and he ordered me to stand aside," Torel reported.

"Acknowledged," He snapped the communicator shut and turned to Uhura once again, ignoring her questioning look. "Everything is in place. Sulu has the phaser and believes that he and I are united in our effort to kill Khan. Do you have any other concerns?" He was impatient, but would not display it even in front of his oldest ally. They would have to leave soon, the time window in which Uhura had programmed the cameras to not record this isolated section of corridor near the Science labs would expire. Usually, they met in their cabins, perpetuating the lie that they had an intermittent relationship, but that was not possible with Gillian so newly aboard ship.

"I still can't find Chekov, or anyone who knows where he is," she said. Chekov and Sulu were occasional allies. It was possible that Sulu had a second plan in place but Sulu had looked haggard when Spock approached him. He had eagerly accepted the shielded box containing an unencoded phaser and Spock's tale of concern for his own position now that Kirk was allying with Khan and keeping him out of the loop. Judging by his hastily concealed surprise, Sulu hadn't realised the extent of rift between the Captain and his First Officer. He was expecting Spock to use a fake report of a brawl to send Khan into an ambush tomorrow during beta shift. Ensign Reyes had the job of luring Sulu into the trap. Uhura's cabin was visible down a side corridor on the route between the mess hall and Reyes' cabin. Sulu had insufficient control of his emotions for one of his rank, even for a human. His desire to possess Uhura would mean his death.

"Statistically, the Augments have probably killed him. I do not know why they have not dumped his body like the others." A possible cause for concern, but the odds were still good that their plan would work. If it didn't, Spock had instructed two of the lab techs to start a riot with the off duty security personnel. Sulu or one of Sulu's loyal lackeys might be able to kill Khan, though his own agents had orders not to. Either Khan or Sulu's death at this point would be advantageous. Sulu was becoming a liability.

"Perhaps they are waiting to be asked, rather than volunteering the information as in the past," Uhura speculated, running her hand over her snake arm band. It was a logical reason but weak. Khan had made himself ruler of one fifth of the Earth, he would not make basic beginner moves like that.

A flash alert shone from the PADD she held and they turned and walked down the corridor. "Your devotion to duty is admirable, Lieutenant," he said. "Send the official report to my station but I am appreciative of your promptness in answering my query about Ensign Chekov's communiques. If he does not show up for his shift tomorrow, we will have to declare him missing. The Beta shift navigator cannot continue to work double shifts." She saluted and followed him past two more intersections, meeting up with two female crew members and continuing on with them.

His increased his pace by 5%. The humans did not have the deductive capabilities of Vulcans and would not notice. Chance favoured him and no one stopped him on the twenty point three minute journey to his room. Torel snapped him a salute at the door. "He was inside for seven minutes and eight seconds, then left with Dr Taylor. He appeared to be in a genial mood. She seemed…puzzled." Torel had been chosen for his loyalty to Spock rather than his emotional sensitivity and had little skill at reading human emotions. Genial in this context meant that Kirk wasn't shouting, crying or leering worse than normal. He nodded his understanding and entered the room, casting his gaze around as he headed for the bedroom.

It was unchanged from the way it looked every time he entered other than that the sheets were pulled off one side of the bed and the view screen was paused. His statues and asenoi were undisturbed on the shelf above the cupboards. There was little evidence that she had been living in his cabin for eight days. A quick check of the bathroom revealed her discarded underwear and he returned to the living area and accessed the security tape, playing it forward at triple speed.

What he heard was disagreeable, she sounded flirtatious and Kirk was leering. Although Gillian was pretty and curvaceous, she was older than the Captain's tastes usually ran to. There were reasons other than her personal charms that Kirk would enjoy her presence in his bed and revenge was foremost among them.

Human women could be foolish and sentimental about practical matters. Even when engaging in sex for payment, they could become emotionally attached to their employers. In 2056, four out of seven of the Empires newly appointed Captains had been killed in turn by their predecessors bed mates in apparent fits of loyalty extending well beyond what Spock believed they could have expected in return. As a preventative measure, in forty one point four per cent of Captains' assassinations, the incumbent Captains Woman lost her life as well. Some were merely caught in the crossfire. Others were killed for seeming genuinely fond of the dead man or simply being in place for more than a few months. As a consequence, many of them took preventative steps to protect their life. Seventy two point nine per cent of Empire Captains were assassinated by their First Officers. One of the benefits of the position of First Officer was to receive the reassurance of the Captains Woman that she would in fact, be happy in the event of a change of Captain. Of the women who had held the position since Kirk became Captain, six had offered such reassurances to Spock on occasions when Kirk was occupied off ship and he had seen no reason to turn them down, assuming Kirk suspected, if he did not know.

The last of these, Janice Rand, had been found dead the next day, severely beaten and manually strangled. Her killer had never been caught despite the Captain's offer of a large financial reward. Jim Kirk had retired to his room and remained drunk and morose for three days before Spock had demanded that Kirk's personal guards let him into the Captain's cabin. Dr McCoy had medically sobered Kirk up and Spock had ordered Kirk to show up on the bridge for his next shift or die. The timing had been enough to provoke Spock's suspicions but Kirk had never said anything to him or changed the way he acted towards Spock. He hadn't even demanded to share Lieutenant Uhura's bed as Spock had anticipated.

He was not alone in his suspicions if Lieutenant Moreau's refusal to be in a room with him or stay on the ship in Kirk's absence was any indication. Spock could have afforded to pay almost any bribe Kirk demanded to obtain possession of Gillian. It was Uhura who had searched the ranks of Starfleet personnel and arranged for Marla McGivers' transfer to the ISS Enterprise. Spock had allowed her to stay overnight several times and gifted her with lavish presents, to simulate affection towards her.

Would Gillian have refused to go with Kirk if he had warned her? No, he could have just offered to take her to see Khan. Inspired, he ran a security check on the cabin that Khan inhabited. There had been no activity since he left for his shift forty five minutes earlier.

His fingers flew over the controls of the monitoring equipment. Audio monitoring of the Captain's cabin indicated machinery sounds only. They were not there. He sent a message to Uhura on their private channel, asking for Kirk's whereabouts. She did not know but assured him she would check with her informants and notify him if Kirk used the communication system. He ran another program, bypassing Sulu's protocols, which would notify him if the Captain's code was used anywhere on the ship. It would alert him if any high security protocols were engaged but during normal travel around the ship, doors were opened by sensors or guards. He brought up Khan's personal code and tracked where it was used comparing it to the previous weeks usage. Lacking ideas, he ran statistical analysis on the movements of the main bridge crew, then on the entire crew. Nothing was obvious. The presence of the Augments obscured any data of significance.

He induced a light state of meditation and sorted his logical arguments as he worked. Kirk was alive in the alternate universe and Gillian knew of him. Therefore, they had met but not become involved. There was no reason for her to become involved with him here. He had missed his chance to obtain information when she had been here. He had made no progress in his courtship. It had been more difficult than his predictions. The easy rapport they had shared was completely absent. The smiling, friendly spouse he had imagined was replaced by a fearful scowling woman who rejected his advances. The single fact that made him even contemplate attempting to transform her into his ideal spouse was the fact that his alternate self had succeeded, proving that it was within his capabilities. His opposing argument was that, in knowing the future, he had changed his actions from what they would naturally have been. He had scared her and made Kirk a more attractive choice in comparison.

A high pitched tone, audible to Vulcans, not humans, alerted him to someone at the door. Torel had pressed the switch. Only Kirk could overrule Spock's orders to prevent Torel from announcing a visitor. Spock wiped the screen in front of him and stood, smoothing the front of his uniform. Kirk and Gillian had been absent from the room for two hours and thirty two minutes. What had Kirk done?


	58. Chapter 58 Rules of Evidence

Two turnoffs away from the café where she'd agreed to meet with Jim and Amanda, she saw Nanclus. He was facing slightly away from her so she ducked into the next corridor and took an altered route to her destination. Because it was lunch, the café contained human customers only, although the staff members were Vulcan. It was cool and decorated with greenery which trailed over the ceiling with a shallow pool of water in the centre. The air was saturated with oxygen, making her slightly dizzy because of the triox. Serek waved his hand in the water, chasing the brightly coloured fish while Amanda, seated on the raised edge he was leaning over, kept a firm grip on his other hand. The sleeve of her robe was a darker blue at the cuff but Gillian was sure that some sort of force shield protected patrons from the enormous amount of water contained in the six inch deep pond. T'Androma was still back at the Fortress, no doubt writing up a report to T'Pau. There had been a brief tussle over who got to play with the babies, um teach them which Amanda had won, relegating T'Androma to night shift and early morning. Her human early childhood educator had stayed with the 'Hood" and she hadn't had a chance to replace him. Leonard and Amanda made good substitutes at least while the boys were still so young.

Jim was seated at a table set against the wall, a large box beside him. The back of the booth was curved, exposing the flat half-moon of the table edge to the wait staff. Jim sat at one edge and she shifted James to her other hip, trapping him in between them, shuffling over so Amanda would have room to sit. "I'll take him," said Jim and with a relieved sigh, Gillian handed over her younger son. The boys got heavier every day. James grizzled and immediately flung himself back onto her lap, nearly knocking over the box that Jim had on the other side of him as he kicked out his legs. He settled on her lap comfortably and gave her a grin which exposed his six teeth. Gillian flipped open the camera and snapped a picture, sending it off to Leonard, twisting it to show Jim the smiley face she received in return. Spock had, although he would never admit it, a phobia of doctors dating from the many examinations during his childhood and Leonard had expressed his concerns over the boys developing the same thing. Now maybe he'd stop worrying and enjoy his last few days on Vulcan.

"You ordered already?" Jim asked, leaning back to allow the waiter, a young looking man, to place the meals on the table. "It's a special order," she said. "My doctor wouldn't budge on the chocolate, even though I said it wouldn't hurt the baby. Never let anyone tell you that Vulcan's don't suffer from irrational fears."

"Well," Jim said with a chuckle. "Fear of T'Pau's wrath if something goes wrong isn't exactly an irrational fear." He dug his fork into the hot crust and scooped up the melted centre, mixing it with the ice cream so it was cool enough to eat.

"Not bad, for fake chocolate. And I feel a good deal better about sending him off with a Deep Fried Mars Bar. I'm surprised he didn't come back to haunt us after the orange juice fiasco." Gillian scooped up a serving on her fork and tapped it against Jim's reloaded fork. "To Scotty," they said in unison before setting to on the dessert. Jim's colour was much better. He'd spent the days since Spock's departure mostly in bed, reading up on their proposal and the rest combined with Leonard's treatments had done him good. She was amazed at his rapid recovery. She still wasn't used to modern medicine and the speed people recovered from wounds these days.

"You look better," she said, swooping the fork away from James, using the spoon to feed him some of the ice cream. Chocolate was fine for her, Serek and the new baby but as toxic to James as it was to Spock and Sarek and she didn't want him getting used to the taste. "I might even consider letting you go after Spock next week."

Jim tilted his head and arched his eyebrow. "And what makes you think you can boss me around?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. You've always struck me as the type. Macho by day, wears women's underwear and gets bossed around by a leather clad dominatrix at night. They say it's very common in men with a high stress job." She managed to keep a straight face at his indignant look.

Jim snorted and swallowed before he could reply. "For a start, Dr Taylor, we have abandoned the sexual stereotypes you grew up with. If I want to wear silk underwear, I will and if it happens to be pink and lacy, there's no stigma attached to that. It's completely manly. As for the other, you had your chance to see what I like and you turned it down. You don't get to have your curiosity satisfied now," he lectured in a mock severe tone, before ruining the effect with a grin. This was true, she had sent an intricate pink lace scarf and a dark brown cabled scarf for Sarek and Amanda for Christmas. She hadn't thought to label them and found to her amusement that Sarek had appropriated the pink scarf and wore it in the air conditioning with not a twitch of irony.

She grinned and watched his smile fade into dismay as she said. "Of course, and Carol, she's so discreet, she never tells me anything." A complete lie, Gillian had had to place her hand over Carol's mouth to shut her up. She didn't mind hearing about Carol's other lovers but it was more than she felt comfortable knowing about a friend.

"Do you really think he's that bad?" he asked and she could detect, under the light tone, an edge of concern. In truth, she wasn't sure. If Spock was a human, she would have said no without hesitation. Learning that Vulcans could lobotomise themselves while reordering their neural pathways added an extra layer of danger to Spock's situation, so she wasn't sure.

She went with, "It's not necessary to grow up with two loving parents and all the advantages of the Federation. You can have a good marriage and a productive life even if you grow up in an orphanage where they beat you for minor infractions. I know which one I prefer for my kids. Does it matter if we coddle him a bit more than necessary?" He nodded, she hadn't really reassured him but she hadn't made him panic, either.

"So, have you read my mission proposal, yet?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," he said, visibly holding back his excitement. "It's fantastic. More than I could have hoped for. You think a three year mission is the best?"

"Of course not," she said. "A series of smaller missions using the ships already in production would be better. I was assuming that you wanted to be the Captain of the whole thing, though."

He held his breath. She'd brought up the subject he'd been trying to avoid thinking about. "Nogura will do his best to see that I'm kept out of it. He thinks I'm a liability. I know that you're pushing it through the Science Institute instead but since it involves space craft and time travel, Starfleet will have a say in who goes." There was still ongoing debate over whether time travel was a fixed loop or any significant changes caused a divergence in the time line. No one had any proof either way and policy swung from sending ships into the past to observe to banning time travel a year later. Certain Captains reports which claimed he had accidentally eliminated the Federation, replacing it with a Nazi led government instead being one of the arguments against.

"I know," she said. "So it's probably best that your name doesn't go onto anything until the last minute. We'll submit Spock's name as preferred Captain and do a reshuffle at the last minute. Did you read the list of qualifications I recommended? It doesn't match up with any of the positions exactly now, but it will be the best match for my final submission. And there's a few things there for my back up plan, in case you're wondering about the weirder ones." Squeezing funding out of higher ups was a talent in and of itself and Gillian was experienced at it.

Jim grinned again "Some of them did make me wonder," he admitted.

Jim had eaten half his dessert by the time she finished hers. She signalled the waiter to take away her plate. He replaced it with a platter of roasted vegetables, complete with a beige card listing its weight and nutrients. Jim's was replaced with a steak and baked potato and sour cream. He was taking advantage of McCoy's absence. He seldom finished meals but never turned down food even if he'd just eaten. The legacy of his starvation on Tarsus IV, it was not strong enough to make him fail a psych evaluation but not absent either. She sighed and started eating a quarter of red onion despite her lack of appetite. It couldn't possibly be necessary for her to eat this much but she had promised Spock not to argue with her doctors. She'd expected it, but it was still hard, she hadn't been hungry for months and had to eat constantly. She'd tried opening up the link to Jim to see if she could make herself hungry but it hadn't worked. She had to be content with leaving her plate unattended and letting the food mysteriously vanish.

Serek spotted her and toddled across the room with a delighted screech. She reached out her hand and he used it to pull himself onto the bench seat. He crawled along it until he reached her, rising to his feet to push James half off her and drop his own bottom, damp from the pond, on her leg. The boys were fiercely jealous of each other. She would have preferred to wait on this pregnancy, so they could have more time before being displaced by the new baby but could see why Spock was adamant. Seeing a close brotherly relationship all the time would be the only thing which would make an only child's loneliness worse.

She had let Amanda lure James away this morning while she took Serek for his examination. It had been harder to reverse the process. Serek had been clingy after an hour of scanning by Vulcan doctors with little or no bedside manner. She had ignored the implied impatience of the nurse who had offered to take James for his examination immediately. She had booked the appointments with a gap in between and wasn't going to be hurried for their convenience or because they disapproved of her parenting. The abrupt reduction of the parental bond when she had been taken from them had upset them and she was not going to hurry them through their shock. They both picked food off her plate but they weren't hungry, Amanda had fed them not long ago. Serek nuzzled at the front of her shirt, but didn't insist on nursing. He'd weaned himself before her little jaunt to the other universe but stress had set him back again.

"We had fun, this morning, didn't we Serek," cooed Amanda, who was going to have to calm them again in the afternoon. Gillian had tried to arrange for the hearing during nap time but she had set the date earlier and was not allowed to change it.

Serek ducked his head against her but smiled a toothy smile and said "Fishies fun."

"Yes, all different coloured fish. Do you want to see them, James?" James shook his head but when Amanda turned to take Serek back to the pond, he scrambled down, reaching up until she picked him up and carried him to the pool.

"I thought of something to keep them occupied this afternoon," Jim said, patting the box beside him in a satisfied manner. To her consternation, it moved and a whine sounded from within.

"What?" That had sounded like a puppy, which didn't worry her. Borrowing a puppy from someone was an excellent idea. Or perhaps, judging by the size of the box it was a sehlat puppy. The bow on the top of the box was what worried her. It implied that possession of whatever was in the box was permanent. She didn't have long to speculate. Jim lifted the box lid to expose a yellow Labrador puppy. Not a tiny one, it had reached the older, long legged stage. It licked Jim's face and he grinned. "It's for you. I had to search the whole planet, there aren't many dogs here. Someone on the Andorian Ambassador's staff bought it from an Ensign who was passing through and they wanted to get rid of it. Couldn't get the hang of toilet training, I gather. I have enough points for one but I'm never home enough. I gave my last dog to my parents, so I thought you could have this one and I could come over and walk it for you sometimes." Jim was grinning like he was giving her the best gift ever. Against her will, she could feel her mouth curving upwards. His joy and enthusiasm were infectious. "A puppy?" she said.

She mustn't have been enthusiastic enough for him though. He turned a troubled glance in her direction. "You don't want it?" Gillian had always thought that, in her heart of hearts, her mother was right and she was a cold hearted woman. She looked into Jim's eyes and didn't want to say no. Obviously an effect he had on lots of women.

She reached forward and took the puppy from him, letting its excited weight drop into her hands. The tail thumped against her wrist. "Just what I need, another baby to look after," she said. The dog looked up at her, wide brown eyes pleading with her for a pat. Serek's delighted squeal came from beside her, "Dog, dog."

"I don't even know why you had the first one," Jim grumbled. "You had me to look after. Aren't I enough?" She scratched behind the dog's ears and it panted its joy, lolling its tongue to the side of its mouth.

"What are you going to call it? It had a name but it won't come when it's called, apparently, so it doesn't matter."

"I haven't said I'm keeping it, yet," she protested. Sarek and Amanda owned several cats. She wasn't sure how many since they had been traumatised by the invasion of two toddlers and were sulking. They probably weren't going to be real thrilled by the presence of a dog.

He grinned at her, brash and self-assured. "Of course, you are," he said. "You patted it. Now it's yours."

And thus it was with greater ease than she had imagined that Jim, Amanda, the two excited boys, and one excited puppy were packed off to Spock's ancestral home, leaving Gillian with time to change into a clean outfit and prepare before the hearing.

The Vulcan Science Institute owned many tall modern building with all the amenities but this was not one of them. An old building carved or set into the rock in places. The walls were several stories high and the room she was let into was huge as a ballroom. Despite this, the room contained only three seats containing Vulcan elders on a raised dais; T'Pau on the right, Sorel, the geneticist who had worked for Sarek and Amanda in the centre and on the left a young but not youthful man with a long narrow face who looked vaguely familiar. Two Vulcans in official robes with no clan or rank markings but dark brown sashes stood at one end of the dais and pairs of guards stood alert at the doors. The official who had summoned her from the waiting room led her to a spot in front of the dais, evidently expecting her to stand in front of the formidable display of seated power.

"Would it be possible to have a chair, please?" she said. Expression unchanged, the woman nodded and left the room, returning with a padded chair. Seated, Gillian looked upwards, "I'm ready now. You may begin." They were going to have to try a lot harder to discourage her, she was used to it.

The man on the left spoke first "Dr Taylor, you are here to defend yourself against a charge of illegal genetic manipulation. This is a court of law and any statement made here is subject to charges of perjury if it is later found to be false." She wouldn't be laying her hand on the bible then. "Do you request legal counsel?"

"No," she said. "My work will stand or fall on its own merits." The Vulcans exchanged glances so she added. "I consulted a contract lawyer prior to the incident in question," to reassure them. The poor man had been appalled at the direction her questioning had taken. "I believe my actions to have been legal."

That was the end of the formalities. "According to your own notes, although the foetus inherited a copy of Gene 13q21.3 from its biological father, there was no matching gene from your gamete. This is to be expected as the gene is Vulcan in origin and governs the growth and development of the heart. However, a scan of the child's genome indicates that it has two complete copies." She had had to submit a digital copy of the genome to the Genetic Engineering Standards Council so James could be assessed for Federation citizenship. She had requested the case be transferred to Vulcan to better her chances. She wanted the case judged without emotion. Sorel would have the scans of James' genome taken this morning and the initial gamete scans, but not the complete record of her work.

"There was a second copy of the gene in the child's genetic make-up," said Gillian. This got her a full height eyebrow raise from the centre figure. "There was a mosaic version of Trisomy 13 present in the foetus, caused by nondisjunction during mitosis. The extra genetic material from chromosome 13 disrupts the normal course of development, causing multiple and complex organ defects. The umbilical cord was single artery and there were accompanying heart defects." That had been the luckiest part, single artery umbilical cords were common in multiple pregnancies and that James had had one indicated that he'd been conceived with Trisomy 13. "Under Section 2 of the Genetic Engineering Code, it was eligible for chromosomal rearrangement as a Correctable Error." Section 1 was a list of things which were disallowed, section 2 listed the exceptions.

"Prior to the correction, I took the opportunity to make the rearrangements most suitable to viability. I used a variation of the procedure proposed by Rogers' 1970 paper on the replacement of defective genes with exogenous good DNA." She smiled and added. "It was quite difficult, but the death of a sentient being is an undesirable outcome." Not so much as a flicker of reaction crossed T'Pau's face.

"Were the corrections somatic or germ line?" asked Sorel, who seemed to be in charge of the technical questions.

"Somatic, of course, germ line weren't introduced until 1978," she confirmed. The changes would not be passed to his offspring. The penalties, if she were to be found guilty, were much less severe this way. She had no desire to spend her son's early childhood in jail. She would if she had to, of course. Her second choice was to make germ line corrections before he reached adolescence. Genetic scans weren't often done and she shouldn't be found out before he started having children of his own. Preferably, she would discover a better way, or at a least a way to hide it better before then.

"The embryo was originally classified by you as non-viable?" asked Sorel. Curiosity was the besetting but allowed sin of Vulcans. Not really the subject under discussion today, but thanks for playing Sorel.

"That was my conclusion. Scans of the blastocyst indicated hybridisation failure. Separate spontaneous mutation of both the trophoblast and embryoblast occurred after implantation due to environmental factors."

"That is your theory," Sorel corrected her.

"Yes," said Gillian, suppressing the urge to twitch by clasping her fingers in her lap.

The man in the middle spoke for the first time. "You are alleging that there were two separate and diverging mutations, both beneficial that occurred in the embryo and that these were both naturally occurring."

Gillian was on solid ground here, truth could do that. "Yes, I cannot be more specific as the embryo was not given a comprehensive scan until the seventh week of gestation. I noted that it had implanted but miscarriage or absorption seemed certain so my only concern was that it not adversely affect the viable embryo. A scan was done at that time for official records. I intended to chemically hasten the miscarriage as the longer the pregnancy endures, the greater the chance that it will negatively impact the uterine environment. The scan showed changes in the genetic code since implantation."

It was Sorel's turn again. "You stated that the mutation was a mosaic form. The scan indicates that there was partial mutation of the placenta only and not the foetus."

"The placenta is an organ of the child which is essential to its life at that time in its development and is thus covered under the law." The identity of the third man finally came to her. It was Stonn, the man T'Pring had married instead of Spock. She managed to suppress a smile. She needed a vote of two to three to be cleared of charges. T'Pau would vote for her but to avoid the appearance of partiality, she had arranged for Stonn to be on the board as well. Either T'Pring was not qualified or she hated Spock too much to be allowed to make the decision. Sorel, of course had an interest in the outcome of the trial. He'd performed the unsuccessful hybridisations for Spock and T'Para.

"You performed gene linkage on Gene 13q21.3, 13q21.4 and 13q21.5? Sorel asked.

"Yes, the supergene should have been present in the paternal DNA but appears to have become unlinked. It is also a correctible defect." Initially repaired in Spock in childhood, it had become unlinked during his rebirth on the Genesis planet. It had no effect on Spock's health but kept several genes grouped so that they were inherited together. She'd realised that by her second batch of embryos and getting Spock to have it corrected had improved her success rate. James had developed from one of her first batch of embryonic discards.

"Correctible in the parent, not the offspring," said Sorel. "A factual statement," she replied. "And he has since had it corrected. This was not discovered until after the pregnancy had progressed. I admit my guilt in this manner and accept the fine." Many hybrid pregnancies required small illegalities like that, especially the unplanned ones.

T'Pau focused her gimlet gaze on Gillian. "It was a human who said that 'Small men command the letter of the law. Great men serve its spirit.'"

"J.C. Marino, Dante's Journey," Gillian agreed. "I disagree with him. There is no spirit of the law. There is just the letter of the law. Shades of meaning matter; the terminology and prose must make fine distinctions. The words must convey exactly the meaning intended, nothing more and nothing less." She knew T'Pau had been a member of the Council when the latest amendment had been granted. "Perhaps you'd prefer "The law is reason free from passion. Aristotle." She smiled then. She had won and they knew it. They were going to fuss and lecture her to discourage her from doing it again. "If you don't like what I did, legislate against it."

There seemed to be no further questions. The panel conferred among themselves. After a few minutes, Sorel turned to her again.

"Your interpretation of the law is imperfect," concluded Sorel. "However as the changes fall within that which could occur naturally, we recommend that the child be permitted Federation citizenship." The small hard knot in her stomach disappeared and waves of dizziness spread through her body, dissipating into the air. She'd been mostly certain of her reading of the law but there was always the chance. She hadn't wanted to spend five or ten years in jail while her children were young. Prisons these days were nice, clean and well provisioned, providing better conditions than star ships but they weren't home. She hoped that the release of her tension would help Spock as well.

She stood to leave the room but Sorel continued speaking. "The odds of two such beneficial mutations occurring naturally exceed that which is acceptable by the court. Comparisons have been made between your research and that published by other researchers and the difference is too great. Logic thus concludes that you made illegal manipulations. To prevent pollution of the human genome, the child will be surgically sterilised."

She groped for the chair, managing to sit without falling, took a deep breath. "Are you seriously suggesting that I am being found guilty on the suspicion of guilt and not proof? Because I don't have to prove anything, the prosecution does. And statistics are not proof."

"Under Vulcan law, once the probability of guilt exceeds 99.9%, doubt is no longer considered reasonable," T'Pau stated.

"So, how is the Council's opinion on time travel these days," she ground out between clenched teeth. "And just what is the possibility of a viable Human/Vulcan hybrid?" Both had been deemed impossible by the Council in earlier history.

"The probability of both has been updated to 1.0 in light of new information," T'Pau stated. "If you have further studies which challenge the accepted data, you should have presented them at your hearing. They can be submitted now." Gillian said nothing. She had submitted all the data she had.

"The panel finds you guilty of illegal genetic manipulation and sentences you to jail for a period of six years." Sorel swept his arm to the right. "Move to the left to make room for the next plaintiff."

Disbelief glued her to the seat. The guard, bailiff, whatever he was called, had to lift her. He was unused to dealing with humans; she would have a bruise on her arm in the morning. Used to Spock's practiced touch, the evidence of a Vulcan's superior strength was a shock. Memory triggered, she pulled back, letting him tug her forward. She aimed the heel of her shoe at the arch of his foot, bearing her weight down on it. "Ooops," she said, because she wasn't going to apologise. No one messed with her stuff and that included Spock.

On numb legs, she followed, docile as a lamb, into the corridor beyond and through a door on the other side. Two female guards replaced her escort. The third woman in the room directed her to a pair of boxes set up side by side on table against the wall. One empty, the other containing a thick white fold of fabric.

"Place your belongings in the box and dress in the robe. The doctor will check you for any health issues before we proceed."

Gillian found her voice. "I am having a fragile pregnancy. I will need to see a specialist." She dropped her PADD into the box and began to remove her earrings. "Also, my children are still breastfeeding. I will need access to them." She didn't know if they would grant that one, but it was worth a try. She was used to being parted from Spock, it was unpleasant but doable, but the boys were another matter. The woman made notations but didn't answer. She hesitated before removing the locator pendant from around her neck. Compared to everything else it was unimportant but she had promised but being ordered to remove it by a prison guard counted as being compelled. She could fight it, but she would lose. She didn't bother asking about her wedding ring, dropping it in the box.

"What will happen to my children?" she asked, unable to keep her pitch steady. She had to gather more information, find out how to proceed.

"The other parent will have full custody," the woman intoned, emotionless.

"They have no other parent," Gillian insisted. She was glad T'Pau had shown her colours early, the interfering biddy.

"Your closest relative then," the woman said.

"I have no relatives," said Gillian. No close ones, anyway. Twelve generations had diluted her closeness to her nieces' and nephews' descendants.

"Your matriarch will be contacted to make arrangements." Gillian shot her an irritated glance. Her next question was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, another woman, who insisted that Gillian change into the plain robe. She then performed a comprehensive scan with a hand held scanner, ignoring Gillian's questions. She compared the scan results to the on screen records and, apparently satisfied, flicked off the display.

"I have your medical records. Your readings are within acceptable levels. Your doctor will be permitted access for all your normal appointment times and notified of all readings taken. As a Vulcan citizen, access to your spouse is guaranteed as requested by your healer for mental health reasons. If you do not have a spouse, visitors other than your lawyer and doctor are banned unless you accrue enough community service points to qualify for outside contact."

All she had to do was name Spock as her husband; on a legal document. At which point, she guessed, custody of the boys would pass to T'Pau. She wasn't up with the finer points of the Vulcan legal system but she was willing to bet that she wouldn't be able to rescind that afterwards. She didn't respond, although the woman paused to allow it.

"As you are biologically human, provisions have been made for you. Gravity, atmosphere and temperature have been set to human standard levels." Gillian nodded and followed her out into the corridor. A litter was waiting for her. Plain and modern, unlike T'Pau's ornate contraption, it was still carried by four men, a tradition which seemed a little archaic. Silent, they carried her through a maze of corridors which changed from carved rock to modern beige walls. There was no demarcation and no guards but she twisted to look behind her when the buzz of a force field sprang up behind them. Doors were placed uniformly in the corridor, in pairs followed by a branching corridor. Four cells placed together in a group, surrounded by corridors.

The litter bearers stopped at a door like all the other doors and placed the litter on the ground. The door slid open and she entered the cool room, bare feet padding on the smooth artificial floor. The door closed behind her and would not open again. There was no need to explore her surroundings, she could see it all. Quite spacious as prison cells went, an archway divided it in two. Dark bars set in the arch identified it as another force field. On one side, a bench attached to the wall faced a blank screen, with a second bench at right angles to it. The other was empty except for a mattress on the floor. She'd been given a double cell, with, she guessed, a private bathroom through the far wall. Probably used for conjugal visits, the bed was at least King sized. Cold, she crawled onto it and pulled the blankets around her.

Once, she'd have thought it amusing to be here in a private room with access to all the accumulated wisdom of the Federation and have them call it punishment. There would be meals and exercise, she was sure. It was better accommodation than she'd had for much of her life. She'd shared a room with her loud, snooping sister until she'd left for college, had a variety of strange roommates and lived in a village with only generator power in Africa for six months while doing her Masters. She probably wouldn't even have to attend staff meetings while in here.

Now, of all times in her life, there were people she cared about and was separated from and it wasn't so amusing.

Author's Note: This story has had a bit added to it. Spock and Nyota were just going to cruise around and not find anything for a while. But they ran into some trouble, which required about five extra chapters. I had a bit of trouble writing Nyota as you really find out so little about her during the three year of TOS. I had to write some backstory for her, even if it most of it doesn't make it into the story. Otherwise, why does she make the decisions she does?

Also, I have partially written another short story for TOS. Off to the side of this one, it got a little too big. I still have about eighteen chapters to go.

I assume that you've all figured out that the Alice in Wonderland themed chapters are Mirror Universe, so be a bit careful there. I've tried to go a different direction than most Mirror stories I've read.


	59. Chapter 59 Past Reflections

Spock counted the twenty two stars whose systems he had entered through the viewing window in the lounge. The Norpin colony was far from the political centre of the universe but no longer part of uncharted space. There were seven others which would be visible in other circumstances but not this time of year or orientation of the station. He had taken several clear pictures from the unobstructed observation deck earlier but the struts obscured his view from where he was seated in the dining room. In thirty two minutes, the colony's rotation would expose the dual sun system that made its planets uninhabitable. The view was spectacular. He had planned to bring Gillian here next year for their anniversary and visit with Nyota and Mr Scott at the same time. The odds of that occurring were low now.

A three hundred person scientific team had been stationed permanently on the colony for the past thirty years, studying the unusual emissions from the solar pair. His presence was not therefore logical. The proprietary interest he had in the discovery was illogical. He had not even been the Science Officer on the 'Enterprise' when they had explored it and first noted its unusual characteristics. It had been Uhura who had gained an increase in rank to Lieutenant due to her work. They had approached the system during gamma shift and she had been in charge only because the supervisor was in sick bay with what Spock suspected was a hangover. The radiation as they approached had interfered with the guidance system functioning. The computer system had not noticed the discrepancy between the input of the sensors and the ships recorded position.

It had been Uhura's insistence on investigating the reason that her communications console was not receiving the proper input that had prevented the 'Enterprise' from being trapped in the suns' gravity well. Off duty but in the Astrophysics lab performing some personal experiments, Spock had performed the calculations requested to free the ship from memory. After that, they had navigated cautiously around the system taking readings. Since the radiation interfered with the machinery they used to take readings, most of the data had been useless. It was a mystery that still intrigued him.

It had been the first time he noticed her above the other crew. He had previously been the substitute instructor for a class she took on Vulcanur, where she had been the star pupil but they had no personal relationship before then. That wasn't unusual. He had formed no personal relationships during his two years at the academy or during his subsequent service on board the ship. A few of the friendlier crew had made casual overtures of friendship but he had been determined to keep to his Vulcan ways and compressing the four year Starfleet course into two years and becoming accustomed to the loud, intrusive human world had left him little time or desire for friendship even before the pranking he endured from some of the less friendly cadets. Friendship was illogical and he was sure he could live a full, productive life without it. Pike was an excellent Captain who focused his attentions on those of his crew who were struggling and Spock made sure never to appear to struggle. His aim was to gain the respect of his Captain for a well performed job.

The small tourism industry that had arisen from the matched pair nature of the sun and the light shows which developed where it met the shielding around the colony had allowed its development into a sizeable outpost and refitting station.

He had developed a system where he searched for unusual wedding destinations and cross referenced them with items of scientific interest. He used the resulting list to choose vacation destinations that would thrill and delight She-Who-Was–His-Wife and allow him to add to his scientific knowledge and experience at the same time. It didn't always work, he had offered to let her choose the most recent destination and she had picked San Diego where she had chosen to go surfing in between pregnancies. But she had been delighted with the tour of the moons of Jupiter they had taken on the way.

He drew the PADD from the large pocket of his Captain's robe and checked for news but there was nothing new since yesterday's update. Gillian always updated with pictures of the boys. Even their continued grumpy mood wouldn't stop her. Either the solar radiation or the colony's shield was preventing communications. Uhura had been planning to work on the problem when she moved here.

Gillian's swinging emotions had informed him that the outcome of the trial had been mixed. The relief told him that citizenship had been granted and her later annoyance that there had been conditions made. The dampening of their bond by the prison containment system had not been a surprise. He had expected that she might receive a small prison sentence but she had not. She lacked the ingrained prejudice against Eugenics that Federation members had. He would push Uhura to return home.

It had been many years since he had called the place of his birth home but it currently contained all those he cared most about. He had wandered for years in search of what he now had and he wanted to enjoy it. Once the small Scout ship had required resupply of its food stores, he had suggested it. Nyota's stricken expression had let him know that he would not be returning just yet. T'Para had suggested that they resupply at Norpin and had taken Nyota on a tour, to see all the places she had heard of and speak to Mr Scott's workmates and acquaintances. It was quite inspired and he expected that his mother had suggested it.

A small dot flashed in the corner of the PADD, indicating an update or message. The message from McCoy read "Be calm before you read this next one," as though Spock wasn't calm and if he hadn't been, reading that message would calm him. He tapped the next message and read, as he had expected, the Gillian had been imprisoned. The term was greater than he had expected but they often were initially. Good behaviour would reduce it considerably.

She'd strayed close to the line on the engineering, although she stated that she'd stayed on one side of it. Logic dictated that Spock should disapprove but he couldn't. The death of his eldest son had occurred because of the stringency of the Anti-eugenics laws. The doctors had been capable of removing the DNA which caused the incompatibility and replacing it with a copy from T'Para but were forbidden by law to do so. Each parent had to supply 50% of the DNA even if it meant the child's death.

He should head home, the boys would need him. That was a thought that would alarm him if he concentrated on it too much. He'd been counting on Gillian's help with the parenting. Up until now, it had been easier than his worst imaginings, but they would be talking soon.

The next message was garbled. The size indicated more holos but interference had rendered it unreadable. He tapped the reload button. As soon as the signal was clear, the automated comm system would try again.

He flicked through the most recent holos, leaving them flat on the screen for privacy. His memory was eidetic so it was not necessary. It was a guilty overindulgence in human behaviour. He was under doctor's orders to stay in a good mood, though so he flicked through some random pictures, triggering the memories that accompanied them. Serek kissing Gillian on the cheek, with the pool in the background, his mother holding both boys and grinning from ear to ear and the daily pictures Gillian took of herself in their bedroom, so he could track the progress of her pregnancy. She had missed doing so many things last time and had wanted to make this time perfect. He was missing time that could never be replaced. She needed him there to reassure her that she was still beautiful, that he was there for her. He would rub her backache away and she would snuggle into him in her sleep, reassuring him of her continued affection. That he was being a good husband to her. Jim would get restless soon and need someone to help him vent his excess energy in harmless ways and he would miss seeing McCoy for several months until Tonia's mission was over.

Even though he had meditated long and often this whole trip, his mood was slipping. Far from home, far from family and friends he was restless and irritable. It hadn't affected his behaviour yet, and wouldn't for months, but it was probably affecting his recovery. The waitress placed his tea in front of him. He placed the PADD on the table and reached for the cup. His fingers closed around the thin handle of the cup and he froze at the voice of the last person he expected to find here.

"May I sit here," she asked, pulling out the chair on the opposite side of the table before he could answer. He stared across the small square surface at her and forced his hand to curl around the handle and draw the cup to his lips. She was unlikely to have seen the slight hesitation of his movement. He should say no but that had never stopped her in the past.

"I would prefer you didn't," he said. His voice was calm and even and his emotions had levelled out. The intensity of them had surprised him and now their lack was also unexpected. Even Vulcan emotions dulled and died with sufficient time and distance. Now he looked and couldn't see the attraction she had once had for him. She was still still one of the most beautiful women he had ever met but that beauty was a trap and whoever he had loved, it wasn't the woman sitting at the table across from him. He had loved a construct of his own mind. Different emotions stirred within him.

"I'd heard that you weren't as dead as originally reported," said Leila Kalomi, ignoring his statement.

"My death was reversed," he corrected. His body had died and that was the usual criteria fulfilled. He slowed his breathing, his inhalations long and deep, attempting to find calm from the shock, to push down the bile that had risen in his throat.

"I heard you got married," she said, her tone wistful, as though hoping that she'd heard wrong.

"I am married," he said in response. If that was what she wanted to know, maybe she would leave now that he had confirmed it.

Her eyes disappeared beneath the long lashes "You never came back for me," she said, tilting her head forward, hair falling to cover half her face.

He groped for a response. Had she truly thought that he would? She had ripped his illusions about her from him along with his free will.

"I thought I had made my opinion clear with my actions," he responded. That was an unemotional reply.

"I know you couldn't come to me straight away, because of T'Pring. Although you could have told me, I have understood," her tone was reproving. It had been none of her business. Had he intended to court her, it would have been and a Vulcan would understand the subject of availability to be a courtship gesture. He had been…attracted to her, certainly and she had noticed, but he had kept his behaviour within human norms as he understood them. When she appeared encouraged, he had started declining her invitations although he continued accepting them from others he worked with.

"But after you were free from her, I sent you word of where I was staying." She had not been imprisoned due to involuntary intoxication by an unknown plant species. Spock believed that although the initial dose had been an accident, the colonists had become addicted to the intoxication by the spores and his report had stated that. It had gone on her record though. Competition was fierce in Starfleet and the details contained within his report would have restricted her career.

"I had no desire to ever be in your presence again, due to your actions," he said. Her head shot up in response. Disbelief etched strongly her face. "But…" She gathered her arguments, "But, I loved you. And I thought that you loved me, too, even though you never said it. Was I wrong? You certainly seemed happy enough to be with me." Her voice changed from surprise to outrage during her speech.

He had been free of obligation while under the influence of the spores. The heavy weight of tradition and his father's expectations had been lifted from him for the first time since his childhood, contributing to his sense of euphoric bliss. Self-gratification would not produce happiness, though, only the illusion of it. He would have spent the rest of his life there, abandoned on a backwater planet, all those things that made him who he was lost to him. His service to Starfleet, his scientific achievements, his parents, all subsumed to the pursuit of physical pleasure. Even his most secret yearnings, to make his father proud of him, even to outshine him were as nothing. He would have had company, but they would have been shells, as like their true selves as he had been like his.

At least he had recovered. When he had first met her, Leila had been top of her class at the Terran Science Institute and many had predicted a great career ahead of her in her chosen field of botany. It had not come to pass. Spock had wondered if it was an effect of prolonged exposure to the spores but Elias Sandoval had gone on to establish a thriving farming colony. He had heard that Leila had gone to live there but had not published anything of note since. Several other members of the expedition had resumed their careers, considering three years of peace and inactivity to be sufficient. Years had been added onto their lifespan due to the spores healing.

He pushed the chair backwards and stood, swaying with a sudden rush of dizziness. "Spock, are you well?" she asked. He wasn't but he didn't know why. His reaction far exceeded what it should be. He had pushed his feelings down afterwards, accepting everyone's belief that 'letting loose' had been good for him. Mitigating his infidelity with the lack of consent and not notifying T'Pring about it.

His suppressed emotional response had all come gushing out again, the next time his free will was compromised. Help captive by the Platonians, forced to behave in a manner against his free will, he had overreacted.

The world spun around him and his biological controls could not stop it. "Spock?" Leila asked with concern in her voice.

"What did you do," he demanded.

"Nothing," she said but he knew she was lying. She had taken the tea from the waitress to bring to him. He had not thought to check it. "You drugged me?" he accused.

"No," she gasped, "Of course not." She reached out her hand and he jerked back. The room swirled around him and he fought to keep upright.

She drew back her hand. "Okay, Spock. Why don't you sit down again? Here, in public. I'll call a doctor." He didn't want to, but saw no other alternative. He sat and pulled the chair back into position, drawing the tea near again. He had taken only a sip and the dizziness had started just before, he thought, but it had not been his first cup.

He ran through the lower levels of meditation, concentrating on restoring his equilibrium. It didn't help. By the time two paramedics, one Vulcan, one human arrived, he was no better off. He reported the vertigo and offered the cup, ignoring Leila's red faced denial and allowed them to lead him away, one on each side.

The walk itself was accomplished without incident. He matched his strides to theirs and was able to walk without physically touching them, but could not rely on his own sense of coordination. He should be able to calculate a similar method of balance using the angle of the walls but found it too difficult. He reported the new symptom to the healer.

In the hospital, they took him to an examination room and scanned both him and the tea. Both were found to be without fault.

"Then what is your explanation?" asked Spock.

The Vulcan healer spoke "We can detect no physical reason for your vertigo. We know little about the effects of the fal-tor-pan but these symptoms seem unrelated. Cell death is a more logical effect and preliminary tests do not suggest that is the cause. We shall run further tests at a cellular level to be sure." The healer took a blood sample and Spock made a suggestion.

"She-Who-Is-My-Wife is a human and she is pregnant. Could this be related?" Spock had significantly more practice than the others at controlling the links and had been working on them over the last year. Input from the others was separated so that he was aware of it but did not experience it himself. He had no desire to collapse if Jim fainted again. The faint thought that Gillian had had the baby prematurely was quashed by checking her emotions and sensing boredom.

The healer noted that on his chart. "It could explain the symptoms, but if your controls were that low, you would not be shielding from me at this distance. We can have you checked by a Reldai, if it becomes necessary. There are three on the colony but two of them are unavailable at the moment. Spock nodded his understanding and they left him alone in the small room. He lay down on the narrow bed and attempted deep meditation.

He couldn't even achieve first level. Sleep eluded him. He lay on the hospital cot, tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position to rest in. The room spun, his back hurt, his mind constantly turned over possible explanations. The long hours of the night stretched endlessly. He couldn't sleep. He was tired, exhausted but restless at the same time. He adjusted his biocontrols again and again but his head still pounded.

He was supposed to journal his thoughts. A stylus or pen to write them down might have helped but he didn't have them. He should ask the healer when he came back. Sex might help but Gillian was far away. There was a meditation he could do for that but it was beyond his skills at the moment. He lacked control, he wasn't sufficiently Vulcan. He was a half breed and could never truly be one of them. He would never be truly human either. They had been right to reject him.

Lonely and isolated, he checked on the boys, something he had been trying to avoid. His confusion would only add to theirs. They were upset and crying, he held the link open, trying to comfort them. It was useless, they would not be comforted. Would she love the new baby more? He checked on Gillian, who was upset and scared. Panic flowed through her at irregular intervals. Not unusual, she still checked on the boys at night whenever she woke. Now, she would be prevented from doing that.

He got up and paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth, six paces each way. Rather than tired, it seemed to make him more alert but less able to concentrate. His mind leapt from subject to subject, unable to hold onto one long enough to formulate a hypothesis and draw a conclusion.

Breakfast came in the morning and he ate it, still walking and asked for more, which was brought. The Vulcan healer came soon after, talking in a soothing voice, making no sense. He wanted to ask a question but couldn't remember what. Time stretched and contracted in unfamiliar ways. Bored and frustrated, everything seemed to take so long. He longed to throw the nurses implements across the room because she was so slow. What was wrong with these people?

It was no good, he was going to fail. He would never be an engineer. He would disappoint his father yet again. No, he would prove them wrong, he could do it. He would succeed where they thought he would fail.

He flinched at the sight of Leila. He must be hallucinating. He had refused to see her for years. No, she was gone now, he must have imagined it. He was hungry, so hungry. He was tired all the time now. He paced some more. He had to concentrate. His father threw a long shadow and he yearned to step out from under it.

Nyota addressed him and his hand twitched. Was she a hallucination too? He wanted to touch her to make sure but that would be impolite. Her hand brushed his forehead and he was sure she was real, mostly sure. "She drugged me," he told her. She had to protect him. Where was his mother, he wanted her now.

Always lonely, in the midst of a crowd, he reached out to Jim. The familiar touch of his mind would steady him. Nyota was yelling at him. She was so beautiful and he wanted her. A pinprick of pain in his upper arm and the world receded into darkness.


	60. Chapter 60 Acceptance

It was an ordinary room, Basic design level 4. Identical to so many other rooms designed and built by Starfleet. If they had not told her this was the room he stayed in, she wouldn't have known, there was nothing left of him here. He had packed all his things and taken them with him. If indeed, he had unpacked them to start with. Here to make the arrangements for their new jobs, he would have spent most of the day working, returning only to sleep. He'd never cared about the space they lived in; he spent so much time in his own head.

Nyota sighed and flipped open her communicator, running the pad on her index finger over the controls. She wanted to talk to Christine but there was no signal available due to the interference from the unusual solar radiation. Not even an updated message. T'Para was waiting for her at the door and Nyota could talk to her, but it wasn't the same. She missed her friends. Her old ones, she had no doubts that she and T'Para were now friends. It had puzzled her at first, that the woman had never moved out of the house she shared with Spock's parents, but every second sentence she spoke was T'Amanda this or T'Amanda that. Spock had abandoned her on Vulcan to endure her pregnancies and the aftermath alone but Amanda had done her best to help her, considering Suran and Mar'Rela to be her grandsons. Spock had only stayed on Vulcan when his oldest son had been born until his death, not returning until T'Para had indicated her willingness to try again. She had a few Vulcan friends but her best friend had been the sister of her late husband and they had disagreed about T'Para's remarriage. It was too soon and involved taking her sons to be raised in another family. With Amanda's encouragement, they were still friends but Vulcans held grudges apparently.

She wandered out into the entryway. She'd spent most of the day at his workplace and hadn't expected much from coming here but she wasn't likely to be out this way again, so she had come anyway. T'Para's head was bent over the PADD, but she lifted her head and looked at Nyota as she approached. "Are you finished?" she asked.

"Yes," Nyota replied. "What has happened?"

T'Para had pocketed the screen and turned to face her. "Spock has been admitted to hospital," she said, her voice even.

She'd thought that Gillian had exaggerated the risks to Spock's health if he didn't get some rest. Guilt filled her. She should have waited, she had dragged him all over the galaxy when he should be home resting. "What happened?" she asked. The Vulcan healers said that Spock would have no side effects from the regeneration and he hadn't, for the past eight years. She still worried over him, though.

T'Para replied "There is little information. He collapsed yesterday and the healers admitted him to the clinic in the public area. He is stable but they do not know what caused the collapse."

"Why didn't you tell me when it happened?" she asked. "Spock told me you were not to be disturbed," she answered. Nyota sighed and rushed out, back the way they had come. T'Para followed until they reached the outer building. "A transport will be faster. It will be here in three minutes." Nyota pulled to a stop, skirt swirling around her ankles. It was frustrating but if T'Para said it was faster, she did not doubt that it would be. She settled into the seat. She was used to waiting without fidgeting when she was anxious for news. It was in her job description. She didn't ask for further information, T'Para would have told her everything she knew and she no longer had a link to Spock. She had been linked to his old body, their bond was completely gone.

She stalked down the hallway in the distance devouring stride all star ship crew developed to traverse the long corridors of the ship. She reached the receptionist with T'Para at her side and said with perfect diction "I am here to see Spock S'chn T'gai. I am the ship's representative." She handed over the ID slip that allowed them to give her his information and access to him. Access by next of kin only was impractical. She was diverted from the conversation, by the sight of the woman waiting in the corridor, outside a closed door. "You," she hissed at Leila Kalomi.

Leila's blonde head shot up, eyes wide and lips parted. "You," she echoed. Ignoring the protests of the receptionist, "You can't go back there until I have verified your identity," Nyota stalked towards the other woman. T'Para stayed to deal with the receptionist.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded, standing just a little too close to her personal space. Not enough for her to step back, even if the wall wasn't against her back, but close enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Nothing," Leila insisted. "We were just talking and he got dizzy. I called for the paramedics." She stared at Leila, who locked eyes with her and kept them there, mouth pressed in a thin line, indignant, but not guilty. Which proved nothing, Spock had asked that any further communication from Leila after the trial not be passed onto him. She had continued attempting to contact him for years afterwards Nyota had kept copies filed in the 'Enterprise' databanks. She had even read a few. They were all variations on the same theme. Why won't you write back, I still love you, why did you have me arrested?

Nyota had been as surprised as anyone else at that last one. She had initially put it down to Spock's rigid adherence to the rules. It had become clearer to her after Platonius. She had loved Jim Kirk dearly and they had previously been lovers. Being forced to kiss him had been surprisingly distasteful. He had attempted to talk her into a receptive frame of mind and she was grateful for that, but the coercive element had still been there. Spock had tried to convince himself of what everyone else had supposed. He had pushed any and all negative emotions deep down in his psyche and refused to deal with them until after his breakdown on Platonius. He had had several sessions with Dr McCoy after that.

Leila still felt justified in her actions, she could see that. She had noticed Spock's attraction to her, as had Nyota, and to her that was all that mattered. Where Nyota had let the matter drop after a little flirting, Leila had persisted. Nyota wouldn't put anything past her.

T'Para broke the deadlock. "I have the passkey," she said. Nyota turned to the door and stepped back. T'Para handed over the slim plastic rectangle and Nyota waved it over the lock. Leila stepped forward and Nyota glared at her until she retreated long enough for them to move into the room. She turned her head to see Leila giving the room's occupant a yearning look as the door slid shut.

Turning her attention to Spock, she took in his condition at a glance. He laid on the bed, curled towards on his side, his face pale with a green cast. His hair was mussed from tossing and turning on the bed. A blanket was pushed down below his waist but he was shivering. She moved forward to push it up over him and he clutched at it. She placed her hand on his clammy forehead, stroking the wayward strands of hair flat. His breathing was heavy and fast and his eyes darted around the room, unfocused.

"N-Uhura," he asked, uncertain.

"Yes, it's me Spock," she said in a soothing voice.

"Keep her away from me," he said his voice raspy. "Gillian …" he trailed off but she could follow his line of thought. T'Pring had allegedly not held his actions against him though he was expected to be faithful, but then look what she had gone and done. Nyota thought Gillian would understand but Spock was worried. Sorry, had an intellectual concern based on his incomplete understanding of human female emotional reactions and their subsequent decision making. She would have though he would have learnt something in the intervening years since their relationship. She slipped her hand into his and was surprised when he gripped it hard. Not too hard, though, he hadn't lost that much control.

T'Para looked up from reading the medical records the receptionist had given her.

"What does it say?" Nyota asked.

"No drugs were detected in his system, or in the tea he brought in for testing. His biochemical readings are abnormal, but they cannot determine a reason. His central nervous system shows signs of overstimulation. His heart rate is accelerated and he has bouts of cardiac arrhythmia, he claimed to be nauseous repeatedly and vomited until his stomach was empty. They tested his stomach contents and the results were negative. He was pacing but dizziness forced him to stop. He claims that Ms Kalomi drugged him and despite that fact that the doctors have told him the results of the tests, he still claims this."

"My head hurts," complained Spock. "She put something in my tea." He pushed himself upwards but before he could reach a sitting position, he swayed and lay down again. The blanket had slipped to his waist again. He tried again and made it to a sitting position. T'Para moved to stand in front of him, hands positioned for a mind meld. The slightest brush of her fingers and his head snapped back, preventing the contact. "No, sa-mekh disapproves," he said. T'Para backed off and he pushed himself to a standing position. Not bothering to smooth out his Captain's robes, he walked to the wall, spun on his heel and paced back the other way.

That was the pattern for the rest of the night and the day that followed. Every two hours, Spock was seized with the restless need to pace the room and burn energy. He could talk then and interacted superficially with them. Over time, he grew more paranoid, dizzy and lost intellectual capacity. His words were mostly nonsensical, although once he cried for his mother in Vulcanur.

T'Para tried to convince him to meditate with her. She had no luck in his fidgety, manic phase. If he heard her, he didn't seem to understand. She lit an asenoi and started meditating when he was able to sit still. He joined her on the floor and sat with his eyes closed but it the movement of his eyes under the lids was any indication, he wasn't achieving a state of calm. Patient and composed, T'Para tried each time with similar results.

A Vulcan healer replaced the human doctors but was equally at a loss to explain his symptoms. Spock refused to allow a mind meld and he wouldn't force it. "It goes against the principles of our culture," the healer explained to Nyota. "If he was a danger to himself or others, I might consider it but it is preferable to wait. Spock may be able to sort out his own mental problems." He glanced down at the medical records. "It is also procedure to obtain permission from Spock's wife before attempting such an action. She would be aware of my presence and should be told if at all possible. I will return to the main hospital. The doctors here will summon me if there is a significant change in his symptoms. I will return either way. This is a new condition that I have never seen before. I am interested in its resolution."

Nyota contacted the First Officer on the Scout ship to update him. Leaving T'Para with Spock, she took his PADD with her to her hotel room. Small and intimate, the hotel was targeted at couples. Scotty had mentioned it several times in his correspondence and when she had toured the gardens earlier she had found the rose bush from whence her rose had come.

She drew herself a bubble bath and poured a glass of wine, hoping they would make it easier to sleep. Sinking into the steaming hot water, she turned her attention to hacking Spock's ship records. It took some getting into, over fifteen minutes was unusual for her and forty five was almost unheard of. It was still easier than trying to access his records without the PADD. Nothing she found was very helpful, although she did notify the clinic about Gillian. Vulcan prisons were Federation standard, she hadn't been sent to Rura Penthe. It was hard to believe that alone had caused this, but it might have been the proverbial straw. She watched the video of Serek taking his first wobbly steps from Amanda to Gillian, complete with clapping and attention grabbing tantrum from James. Feeling horribly selfish that she was making Spock miss all this, she closed the file. She typed Scotty into the search field and found a video she hadn't seen. Hikaru and Scotty taking the pickup truck out for a spin. Somehow, this managed to involve lifting the hood and making a few small modifications. Hot, salty tears trickled down her face while his voice sounded in her ears.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, she slept most of the day away, hoping something would come to her when she was better rested. She hadn't been sleeping well lately. There were no updates when she awoke.

She arrived back to find Leila had T'Para backed into a corner of the waiting room. Nyota would have loved to have her thrown out but with no evidence, she would be free to leave. It seemed better to let her hang around. "Does he visit Vulcan often?" she asked, standing in T'Para's personal space. T'Para stared a little too long, as Vulcan asked personal questions by humans tended to do and replied "More often since the children were born." Leila's face looked like she had slapped it. Nyota strode past to Spock's room but she wasn't quick enough. "You are here as the ships representative," Leila called after her. She'd managed to wheedle some information out of the clerk, then. Nyota would make a complaint before she left.

She ignored her and entered Spock's room to find him unchanged, pacing the floor. He turned and stalked across the room, coming to a halt near her. He smiled at her, an honest to goodness grin and said. **"**You have a talented tongue."

And then she knew what the problem was, but not how to fix it. She knew why the healer hadn't seen it before. "Spock," she called to him. "Spock, you must listen to me, it's important.

"Stay away from me," he maintained, holding up a hand in warning.


	61. Chapter 61 Off With His Head

The sound of voices through the open door tore Gillian's attention from the lecture on epigenetic markers. She had heard the outer door chime but was not quite so indifferent to pain that she would open the door to a stranger. The room was so hot her bodysuit was uncomfortable and she only wore it when her new owner was present. He entered without warning but he was nothing if not predictable. She would dress and move out to the tiny living area before his return each day. Whoever was here, it was not him. Out of time, she flicked the sheet up from her waist to cover the parts of her exposed by the oversized t-shirt and shorts that she had found in the drawers during her explorations but otherwise took no action. Extended into a double bed, the bunk touched the wall, trapping her in the corner, leaving an aisle on the other side of the bed and the hallway at the foot which reached from door to door. She might reach the door to her left if she ran but it led only to the bathroom. The fork she had placed on the floor to stop the door to the living area from closing let the sound through but it was so close to the main door that she gained only a few seconds.

The bedroom door swished open and she was not surprised when the ship's Captain entered her field of view. Khan had looked very comfortable when she had seen him on the bridge. He moved to stand between her and the screen, blocking her view with his tacky gold muscle shirt. "James T. Kirk, Captain of the ISS Enterprise. I want to talk to you." She sighed and picked up the remote control. It was programmed to allow her access to certain content since her voice print was not authorised to access the computer. She used it to rewind the documentary a few seconds then hit the stop button.

"Congratulations," she said "You've achieved your goal. You are in fact talking to me." She tried for sarcasm but managed boredom instead. It would do. A scowl darkened his handsome face. "Put some clothes on and come with me," he said. She grappled with the sheets and stood, then walked to the bathroom. He moved back to let her pass but she could feel his hot gaze on her as she walked and a smile curved her lips. She knew her walk had become sexier, more fluid because he was watching and attracted his attention. Covering up could be sexier than nudity, especially when female flesh was so much on display all the time. It amused her a little to lead him on and she found precious little amusing these days.

She showered using the sonic setting, and dressed in her own underwear, pulling the full length outfit she'd worn in stasis over it. Made of heavy woven fabric, it covered everything from the neck down. It was loose at the waist as most things were, she had Marilyn Monroe's extreme hourglass figure, but the heavy fabric didn't bag, so the look was not unattractive. She tugged her necklace from under the collar and rubbed a small amount of hand cream into her wrists but otherwise skipped cosmetics. She owned none and this way he would not be able to claim she had dressed to attract him. There was no point in coming over all coy and retiring, though. She pegged the Captain as someone who would become upset if he thought she was rejecting him.

His gaze, when she emerged from the bathroom was hot and palpable. One side of his mouth curved up in a smile. "You move like a woman who needs to get laid. Not getting any from Spock?" he asked. A teasing remark, with an undertone of knowledge to it, did he have the room under surveillance? She'd been concerned that Spock had, trying to keep covered even when he was absent, but had counted on his paranoid checking for surveillance to keep her safe from the view of others.

"Not in the last few days," she replied, voice soft and demure. He smiled in triumph and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her from the room. He led her, walking a bit too fast for her to be comfortable, through the winding corridors of the ship and into the turbo lift. Two bodyguards followed them down the corridors. She spoke left and right in her head whenever they made a turn in case she needed to retrace her steps, although the possibility was low. Everyone they met stepped aside, anxious not to attract their leader's attention. Her lips curled in amusement; Khan's followers lived for his attention, working hard for the slightest hint of praise, he was a much better leader than this petty tyrant. An armed petty tyrant, she reminded herself. Don't annoy him unless it's necessary.

The bodyguards took up residence beside two of their fellows outside an unmarked door. Kirk ushered her forward before him. Two couches and two armchairs surrounded a coffee table. She wouldn't have picked him as a painter but paintings were crammed onto every square inch of the wall and a faint smell of oil paints pervaded the air. Most were by the same artist, although she spotted a few professional prints she recognised, including a Monet high up on the wall. The benches were crammed with statues, some amateurish, others very well executed. The furniture didn't match the decor, perhaps it had been brought it specially. Kirk reclined on a large couch, waving a careless arm to his left. She took the single chair with its back to the wall, so she could see both guards and the Captain. A useless gesture, any of the three men were able to overpower her, but she hated someone she couldn't see behind her. Kirk smiled "So, Gillian…may I call you Gillian?" He paused and looked at her.

She considered asking him to call her Dr Taylor but decide that would be too combative. She hadn't yet determined what he wanted or what he knew. "Of course."

"In return, you may call me Jim." He lowered his voice in a manner that probably set teenage girls' hearts fluttering. "Come, sit beside me," He patted the back of the couch. She lifted a surprised eyebrow but rose and crossed the room to sit beside him, angling her body toward him and sinking into the couch.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" he asked.

"Yes, something to eat that's not a sandwich or that vile pumpkin soup," she replied. She didn't know what he was up to but she might as well get a decent meal out of it. He gave a short bark of laughter which actually sounded genuine and called over his shoulder, "Marlena". She'd thought the woman's name was Marla but ran the memory back in her mind to check. It had been Marla. Dark straight hair framed the beautiful face of the woman who entered the room. She wasn't working, either, if the long floaty dress was an indication.

"Serve us dinner, will you?" he asked. The woman stiffened but smiled and nodded, returning immediately to set the coffee table with two plates of roast beef and vegetables. Not even the food machine made food that quickly, it must have already been in the other room.

"Wine?" Jim offered as she picked up her fork. Marlena, who'd been on her way out the door again, paused to take the rest of her order.

"Beer, if you have it," she said. "Is there any chance of ice cream for dessert?" She had to grab her pleasures where she could these days. Not that this, the first half decent meal she'd eaten in three hundred years, compared to the lavish feasts that Khan held every day, but it beat what she'd been eating by a long margin. She ate in silence but Jim kept up a line of pleasant conversation in between mouthfuls. Canada had a football team now and they were doing quite well, to his pleasure. The corn crop in Iowa was also good. Marlena returned to replace the dishes with bowls of vanilla ice cream, disappointed at the banal conversation. Kirk dismissed her with 'We'll call if we need you. I might be by later."

They waited in silence for the door to close before the conversation turned to the topic he really wanted to talk about. He leaned back, ignoring the bowl on the table, but a subtle shift had occurred. Her genial meal companion vanished, replaced by the ambitious hard eyed star ship captain she had seen at their previous meetings. She'd hoped to have eaten the ice cream first, but maybe he'd talk for a while longer. She leaned forward and snagged the bowl.

"Mr Spock and I have been allies for a long time. Over three years now. It has been a profitable arrangement. He does not approve of my new alliance with your boss, Khan. He thinks Khan will try to kill me."

"Probably," she admitted. That one was a no-brainer. He knew it too, and didn't comment. "He likes to be in charge," she added, so as to seem helpful without actually being so.

"I have made Khan a member of my security staff. The Chief of Security Sulu has been making steady advances towards my position. If he kills Spock, he becomes my First Officer. He ranks highly enough that if he kills me, he gets my job but my alliance with Spock is well known. My guards have orders to avenge my death, but so did my predecessor, Captain Pike's and they accepted…due compensation for their loss." That explained the balding guard who had to be in his forties. "Sulu may expect Spock would be more loyal." Gillian nodded. Kirk had to have failed history if he thought Khan was a lesser risk. She still wasn't sure of his point. She tried for a charmingly baffled expression, although she thought she was a bit old to succeed.

"So, currently, either I will prevail, with Spock and Khan as my First and Second Officers, or Sulu will prevail, and take the opportunity to clean house." She ate the last half spoonful and eyed his bowl. He hadn't touched it yet. "Hmm," she said. This must have been the wrong response because he glared at her and added "You are unlikely to get a better offer than Spock's." It had been many years since she had been reduced to such low status, actually. She was Khan's ally and had gotten there using her brains, not her breasts. She had been confused and incoherent after waking from hibernation. Had she been in a better frame of mind she would acted differently.

They had staggered into the 'Botany Bay', the pitiful remnants of a once great army. Of those who had arrived at the hidden spaceport, less than a third had made it onto the ship, the rest engaging in a fire fight with the opposing forces. They'd have been bombed into oblivion except for two things. Schwarzkopf had wanted a public trial and he hadn't thought that Khan would sacrifice that many of his own followers. He had always fought as though he valued their lives, which he did but not as much as he valued his own.

Gillian had been at the front, showing the way to the hidden location. That too, had been an advantage. Troops had been set to protect known targets, not expecting the change in course to a wealthy man's private estate. First on the ship, she and Khan had placed the keys and entered the passwords which activated the automated launch pad. She had yelled herself hoarse making the Augments, who were milling around arguing, don the protective mesh and get into the stasis beds.

Once the enemy troops were visible, he had ordered the doors pulled shut and set the auto launch. They'd had five minutes to be in the stasis units before they locked and activated. She'd lain there, her limbs getting heavy and her brain relaxing into sleep. The ship had rumbled and shaken and she'd wondered if she would feel the 'twang' that Buzz Aldrin had spoken about. The rockets had fired and taken the lives of thousands of soldiers at the foot of the launch pad, friend and foe alike. So many people she knew who hadn't made it. Some had died in the days of battle, the rest died then.

Everything was still and silent. Light flooded her eyes and she thought Khan hadn't been quick enough. The enemy had breached the doors and prevented the launch. Confused at the chaos, she had fallen out of the unit, forgetting she had the top bunk. Sibahl had lain lifeless on the floor. She and Havea had tried CPR and she remembered begging or praying for help. The combination of terror and numbness kept her functioning. She prioritized her tasks and did them. She hadn't wanted to agree to his terms but the necessity of saving Sibahl weakened her negotiating position. Khan could renegotiate later if he was still alive. Her attention had been drawn to the commanding blonde man in the centre of the room and it took a long while before she realised that the reason was the pointy ears of the man next to him. That had not been in any of the projected outcomes.

She had thought them to be pirates or scavengers. That if she kept them alive, they could hope for escape or rescue. Finding out that they were the best the human race could offer had been a bitter pill. She hadn't bothered to research any further after she found out that she was on the Flagship of the Terran Empire.

Kirk was studying her like she was an insect pinned to a board. "You still expect rescue from Khan, don't you?" She nodded, as a loyal subject would. Khan should be trying to rescue her, he owed her big time. Plus, he would want the information she had and knew she wouldn't hand it over while she was a captive.

"Not without cause, he has tried repeatedly. He's becoming troublesome to Mr Spock, in fact. For anyone else I'd say annoying, but Spock doesn't get annoyed. Although he has been known to get rid of people who are troublesome to him," Kirk gave her a reproving parental look and Gillian suppressed the urge to slap it off his face. Ah for the days when she had minions to do things like that for her.

"That really shouldn't be necessary. We are all on the same side. All you need to do is tell Khan that you are happy to stay where you are, and we can move on to more important things," he coaxed. Because of course, if Kirk thought it was important, then everyone thought it was important.

"I take orders from Khan, and, for the moment, from Spock," she said and got to watch as his face mottled red. "You've all but said that I have no hope in your direction." She loved it when she could throw their arguments back in their face in a way that sounded like a compliment but wasn't.

Kirk stood abruptly and she flinched. "Follow me," he growled and strode out the door. The guard held the door and marched on her heels until she trotted and caught up with Kirk. He dropped back a pace then.

He was paused before a door with two security guards. The door slid open and he shoved her inside. Khan stood enclosed in a clear tube raised on a metallic platform, pain distorting his hawkish features and twisting his body. He stood arms outstretched, suspended by unknown means. A pulsating red light flickered through the tube. Another pair of blue uniformed guards stood near the walls, indifferent to his suffering. A woman in what Gillian judged to be a nurse's uniform and a bad dye job stood by the control panel checking readings. She looked up and gave Gillian a look of hatred. Great, another enemy, what had she done this time? She had been quite content to while away the hours of her confinement in the cabin catching up on her learning. Now she was being involved in all sorts of political machinations she had no interest in.

Kirk shook Gillian's arm to get her attention. When she turned to him, he grasped her chin with his left hand, digging his thumb into her cheek until she winced and twisting her necklace with his other hand until the beads pressed into her skin. His lips twisted in a cruel smile.

"What did he do?" she whispered, breaking the silence. She had read a reference to the agony booth and guessed this was it. Khan could never accept second place in anything. He must have tried an unsuccessful coup. The question was how wrong the plot had gone. Could Joachim lead the others as well as Khan had? Khan kept him on a short leash but he had the training.

To her surprise the answer was "Nothing." She blinked as he continued "He is your leader and thus responsible for your behaviour."

"What did **I **do?" It couldn't be her answers to his questions. Kirk had to have set this up before their meal. Spock kept her confined to his quarters, except for her trip to the bridge to see Khan. The Vulcan guards would testify to that. Or had things had gone really badly for Spock and they lacked an employer? No, because then why ask her to stay with Spock? Unless he was testing her to see how loyal she was?

"Nothing," he said. "That's the problem." She cast him a quizzical glance. What?

"I was going to strip the ship of its cargo and kill the lot of you in stasis. The only reason you all live is because Spock wanted you," he snarled at her, shaking her for emphasis. Pain lanced through her cheek as the bead snapped and the sharp edges of Perspex cut her skin. "I provided medical care for your leader who is no doubt going to cause me to regret my actions, because of my alliance with Spock. The cost for this act was that you become Spock's woman until he tires of you and you've done a piss poor job of it. You are not keeping up your end of the bargain and so until you do, Khan here is going to stay here in the agony booth." He smiled at her. "I trust you understand me but in case you don't, he'll be staying in here for the next half hour. Any time I think you're not trying hard enough to make Spock happy, back in he goes. If he dies, I won't cry. Nod if you accept the terms of our agreement." She nodded, pain lancing through her scalp, and staggered back as he released her. Well, the time off had been pleasant and cheaply bought for the cost of a few tears and a bit of sulking. This new time period hadn't sucked as much as she'd thought it would up until he knocked on her door.

"Nurse Chapel, use the dermal regenerator on her face." The nurse moved to run a boxy device over Gillian's skin. It tingled at first then the area became numb. A quick glance in a mirrored surface showed no cut and the purpling bruise on her cheek was fading. Gillian became absorbed in watching it. The warm touch of Kirk's fingers on her arm made her jump. She had almost forgotten he was there.

"It'll be gone by the time you get back. We should go. We wouldn't want Spock to worry," he said in mock concern. She fell into place beside his cocky stroll, he was satisfied he had gotten his way. She would have to deal with him, she realised. "I don't know what to do," she said in a small voice. He gave her a suspicious look. "With him, I mean. Spock. He's so strange, different. He hasn't asked for sex since the first day. I don't know what he wants." Not verbally asked anyway, but he'd hinted indirectly enough that she'd been able to ignore it.

He'd believe that, she thought. Men always liked to believe women were incompetent. It wasn't even that much of a lie. She didn't actually know what the strange, reserved alien wanted, apart from the obvious and he hadn't seemed to enjoy that much. She just didn't care. Maybe he was trying to fit in to human society without understanding it? He tried to converse with her when he arrived in the room after his shift but his conversational skills were lacking and he soon gave up in the face of her disinterest. She had slept a lot in the first few days. The stasis process had been physically draining and the days of running and fighting without sleep before that wouldn't have helped. Now she lay in bed with her eyes closed, feigning sleep.

"He wants you," he said. "He intends to marry you and have children with you." She blinked and dropped the ingénue act in surprise "Um, he's an alien, you may have noticed."

He grinned at her then, with genuine glee. "Actually, his mother is human, so he's only half." She could feel her eyes widen and against her will, curiosity began to bloom inside her. How did that work? "He has tried to have a child with both a human woman and a Vulcan woman but without success. Then, about a year ago, we had a visit from an alternate universe. That's a universe where the same people are..."

She cut across his explanation. "Yes, I've read Superman comics, thank you." Kirk scowled in response and she reminded herself to string him along more. "The woman who came through, the other Gillian, she was Spock's wife in the other universe and had managed the genetic engineering successfully enough to be pregnant with their third child. She sold him the technique before she left again."  
>That explained why he'd become so fixated on her over a few minutes acquaintance. She didn't care what happy family fantasy he had in his head. She didn't know why the alternate Gillian had married his alternate but she couldn't see the attraction. Maybe she could look at the work and adapt it to some other woman. Maybe she wouldn't bother. He seemed clever enough, always talking to her about his research which made no sense to her whatsoever. She'd never really understood physics, merely regurgitating the course work to get good marks and dropping it as soon as possible.<p>

When they reached the room, Kirk gave the guards a casual salute before reaching to press the chime. The door slid open to reveal Spock just inside, his face its usual indifferent mask. It was well before his normal return time, he must have been monitoring the cabin.

Kirk ushered her into the room. "Mr Spock, I'm so sorry. I thought I'd take Dr Taylor on a tour of some of the scenic spots on the Enterprise. Time got away from us." Kirk smirked, nodded his head and left after Spock saluted him. Gillian and Spock stared at each other in silence for a second and then Gillian turned towards the bedroom.

He stepped sideways, blocking her path. She paused, and locked eyes with him. His gaze was…assessing, as though trying to read her mind. "Are you well?" He asked at last.

"Just a little tired." Her answer didn't seem to please him.

"Did you enjoy your tour of the ship?" His face remained the emotionless mask it had always been but there was intensity to his words that denoted demand. Had something happened to him to make him that way?

"Better than dinner with Jeffrey Dahmer," she said and tried to slide past him. He had no sense of humour at all, he didn't so much as twitch. Or maybe his knowledge of Earth culture was lacking.

His hand caught a fistful of her hair, forcing her head back so she stared at him. "What did the Captain want?" he demanded. He held the opposite side that Kirk had, running his hand through her still messy hair, smoothing it straight again. Her head tilted to the side and he inspected her cheek, the bruised one, which was supposed to be healed.

"He asked about your health and state of mind." There was no point in lying when the truth would do. Wincing, she stood on her toes to ease the pain a bit.

"What did he do?" he whispered near her ear. His goatee scratched against her cheek and she leaned away. He pulled harder and she reached her hand up to her scalp, leaning back off her centre of balance. His grip loosened and she stumbled backwards, arms flailing to regain her balance. Two quick strides had him close again, his hands cupping her arms just above the elbows, holding her upright.

"What?" she asked. His lack of facial expression made it hard to determine what he wanted to be told.

He pushed her back far enough that he could look into her eyes, sliding his hands around hers. A faint sensation, like a bird wing brushing against her mind made her try to pull her hands free. A futile gesture, he was stronger than her. He enunciated each word slowly. "Did he touch you?"

On firmer ground, she shook her head and widened her eyes, "No, of course not." What a ridiculous question. Had he seen Marlena?

"Why not? He is the Captain and many women find him handsome."

So was Ted Bundy. She bit back on the retort, wincing as he pulled her close to him. She could foretell the way this conversation was going and knew she wasn't going to like it. Maybe he would kill her if she annoyed him enough. She deserved it after what she'd done. "He didn't ask," she replied.

He held still, violence restrained by sheer willpower. She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow but instead, felt her hands drop to her sides and a tugging at the front closure of her jacket. She braced herself for the coming unpleasantness, took a deep breath and relaxed. She kept her eyes open, she might see something useful.

He gripped both sides of her jacket and ripped downwards, tearing the buttons free and pushing it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. The shirt cloth tore easily, ripping to her waist, exposing the network of scars. Short, 15mm long, they formed a pattern over her body. He jerked back, part of the shirt dangling from his hand, and she wiggled, letting her arms slip out of the sleeves and stood, dropping the loosened pants to the floor and stepping out of them. The scars covered her entire body below the neckline, abundant in the fleshy parts of her body, her breasts and buttocks, scarcer over the ribs. Thick cabled rope marks twined three times around her wrist, reaching halfway to her elbow. She kicked free of her clothing and stood arms outstretched and turned, like a model to display her entire body. "Like what you see?" she mocked, curled in an expression of contempt. She dropped her arms but stood defiant, head tossed back, daring him to comment. He wasn't angry or disgusted, hadn't yet hit her, maybe he would let her go if she promised not to tell the rest of the crew how she had cheated him of his compensation for the medical care. Not that she was eager to go back. Khan would expect her compliance and it was never pleasant to be the focus of his anger. There was no point in choosing when all options were undesirable. "You can do anything you want, but it's all been done already."

"I will," he said, letting the shirt drop. His hand shot out, faster than she would have believed possible and he spun her around, pushing her through the door to the bedroom. Her back slammed against the mattress, forcing the air from her lungs. Fear surged through her and she scrambled to the far side of the bed, curling her arms around her head and closing her eyes. With one gesture, he had become something unfamiliar and other. She knew he was not human; the proof was there every time she looked at him but most of the time he acted like a geeky human. His toughness softened by a distinct social awkwardness. It was surprisingly easy to forget and treat him like a human. Now, his diffident demeanour had vanished and he seemed suddenly focused, unknowable, in a word, alien.

She was adrift, alone in an incomprehensible universe, surrounded by enemies, at the mercy of an unkind fate. She could hear the rustle of clothing as he moved about in the enclosed space. She fought the urge to flee, there was no point. She had struggled and raged against the world for years and achieved nothing. Now, she supposed Kirk would renege and not kill Khan for her even though she had defied him. All her rage disappeared in a flood of despair, which enveloped her entire body before slipping away, leaving her empty and desolate.

The door clinked against the fork. She opened her eyes. She was the room's only occupant. Shuffling across the bed, she slipped onto the floor, and, approaching from the side so as not to trigger the door, she peered through the slit into the next room. A flickering light told her what else she would see. His heavy black robe pooled on the floor as he knelt, as he did every morning and afternoon, on the floor in front of a shallow bowl filled with oil. A flame rose from the centre wick. It was called an asenoi and he used it as a meditation aid. Meditating twice a day seemed excessive to her, but everyone needed a hobby. Stamp collecting and bird watching were probably really old fashioned now.

She went back to bed, adding captioning to the documentary and starting it up in silent mode. No sense drawing attention to herself. There was little new material in the documentary. A raft of new laws had banned most genetic research after the Augments were defeated. Disease eradication had continued but judging by some of the names associated with discoveries she already knew of, she hadn't been the only one to dump research in the dying days of the war. It couldn't keep her attention, competing with the events of the day which she was trying not to think about. She fell into a shallow fitful sleep.

She dreamed of her first death, reliving the eternal hours of pain as she hung, the sun beating down on her, waiting for death's anticipated embrace. Waiting until the throbbing pain in her shoulders turned to numbness, leaving only her disappointment at her failure to achieve her goals. Waking to scorching heat, taut, dry skin, stiff limbs stiff and more pain was a bitter disappointment. Stars dotted the night sky and distant thuds punctuated the silence. It would just be a question of waiting. She had tugged her arms down, desperate to change position, even if she had to support her own weight. Pain forced a dry croak from her throat but her arms moved. She opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. A bloody ear filled her field of vision. The smell of blood had been so prevalent for so many hours, it was barely detectable. A small shudder passed through the lumpy surface on which she lay. A beam of white light swung through the night. Another shudder and what she had taken for a black shadow resolved into a man shape. He turned, trudging out of view, returning, throwing a distorted hulking shadow before him. He threw the next two bodies onto the pile, further down. She passed out again, or that was the last of them, she didn't see him return. They burned the bodies, she thought, if there was no handy cliff to throw them over.

She had to get away. She was stiff from the hours in the one position but if she could get the blood flowing again, she would be able to walk. Blood flowing wasn't necessarily a good thing when you had this many holes in your skin but what choice did she have? She clenched her fists, she would need to move. Stinging pins and needles accompanied her weak, convulsive movements, but movements they were. She tried to roll over but a heavy weight held her down. She could see stars, she couldn't be too far down in the pile, but a dead body held her down. Her back pressed against a dead man's chest, his weight would be difficult for her to lift if she were in good condition. Injured and weakened, it could mean the difference between life and burning to death. Too panicked to think of a strategy, she threw herself back against the weight. Strong hands grabbed her and held on. She screamed.

"I will not hurt you," said a deep baritone voice. She struggled against the arms which held her to the corpse's chest. To no avail, it was freakishly strong. She screamed again, her shrill voice alerting her to the fact that she was awake. It had been days before she could talk after the real incident. She slumped into the bed, cognisance returning.

Soft cloth like terry towelling pressed against her cheek and rose and fell with Spock's breathing. There was still no steady thud of a heart within his chest and it was still bizarre and creepy. Her own heart pounded furiously and she thrashed back. The sheet had tangled around her legs, preventing her movement and prompting the nightmare. Her trembling fingers were unable to grab the sheet and he took it from her, tugging it down, freeing her. She took a shuddering breath and relaxed, snuggling further into her pillow. The cold chill of the departing fear left her shaky.

His fingers paused on her thigh and trailed up to her hip, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. Once there, he exerted pressure and she slid sideways at the mercy of his inhuman strength, until she was pressed against him. The sheet bunched beneath her and she gritted her teeth, she hated that. He held her close in his embrace and a pleasant sensation of lassitude enveloped her. She should push him away in case he got ideas but the shaky fear had vanished and it was nice to feel safe for once. Her scars should put him off. Her eyelids brushed against his chest, close enough for the heat f her body to warm her.

His fingers rubbed gentle circles near her back and shoulders. Perhaps she did have a need for human contact after all. It had been a long time since she had been close with anyone. Her friends and lover had died in the fall of House Navarre. Warm lips pressed tender kisses to her forehead, cheeks and unresponsive mouth. Languorous, she thought she should move or burst into tears again but it seemed too much effort. Lifting her eyelids seemed like too much effort.

Undeterred by her lack of response, his fingers slid less chastely over her breast and he pressed his hips against hers, rolling her onto her back, following her over but supporting his weight. She was trapped between him and the bed, his arousal obvious. His fingers stroked her hair back, exposing her skin and he kissed her again. Slow, wet, kisses trailed down her throat while his other hand tipped her head back.

To her relief, he kept his word about the mind touch. She shivered at the memory of that strange sensation and his hand shied away from where he'd just touched a ridged scar on her shoulder. "The scarring is irrelevant. It is not logical that it affect my opinion of you." That was a novel attitude, everyone else had been repulsed. Of course, they'd all been human.

She didn't want to encourage him with actual enthusiasm, but the creased sheet was really aggravating and it would be over sooner if she participated. She ran her fingers through his hair, letting the strands fall heavily back into position. Her fingers swept lower, to the points of his ears. She traced the smooth, hard curves but she could discern nothing strange about them other than the shape of the pinnae. Combined with the greater lung area, it spoke of a low oxygen environment. His strength pointed to higher gravity, although his long thin build spoke against it. It must hot for him to be so tall.

Moving lower, he drew the flesh of her breast into his mouth, sucking to draw the blood to the surface more than kissing. She turned her attention to the business at hand, pulling up the appropriate memory. His beard scraped against her skin, interrupting her Charlton Heston fantasy. She preferred clean shaven men. With a sigh, she pictured Jeremy Irons instead. She could make an exception for him.

She bent her knees, running her feet up the backs of his thighs. Spurred on to greater enthusiasm, he kissed her stomach, where he happened to be positioned at the time. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, urging him upward and he growled in response, startling her, it was such an inhuman sound. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder but the pinpricks of pain seemed only to excite him.

Not enough to make him hurry. He ran his strong muscular hands over every inch of her, not avoiding the slippery lines of the scars that covered her skin and placed warm kisses on her inner thighs. He stroked the sensitive underside of her feet until she squirmed. She protested and he responded in an unfamiliar language, voice hoarse, "Ta Nash Vee". She tugged at her foot, curling away from him.

Suddenly frantic, he dragged her by her ankle and his weight bore her into the mattress. She opened her eyes, curious. His gaze was unfocused, his face flushed and his breathing rapid but he kept his weight balanced and his movements precise and controlled.

Her body was slick with sweat when she arched her back and felt pleasure flow through her body, most intense where his skin rested against hers. The pleasure ebbed and she was surprised to realise that she hadn't just felt his pleasure when he could no longer shield. He had managed to cause a physical reaction in her.


	62. Chapter 62 Dreams ABout Flying Away

She had to speak to a lawyer, she had to find out what she could do to reduce her sentence and she had to calm down and not stress Spock any more. She'd miscalculated and had to fix it. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees. She flexed her hand and groped for the connections with George and Gracie. She pictured them as twisted ropes emerging from the outer levels of her katra, thin and strained by distance but solid and flexible, connecting them to her. Spock viewed it differently in a way he couldn't quite explain but whether that was due to interspecies differences or another aspect of her synaesthesia, she didn't know. Little was written down about it, due to Vulcan privacy strictures.

She grabbed the connection and tugged to widen it. It twisted and slipped through her fingers. She tried again, frustrated. The third time, she realised that something here, in the prison, was blocking her efforts. She'd been in contact with them from Vulcan before. It made sense, of course, some Vulcans had stronger mind powers that could help them break out of prison. Sybok would have been busily recruiting his way out of prison in no time and the priestesses of Gol had levitated Spock's litter, which would also no doubt be a handy escape tool. Very few Vulcans committed crimes, they were illogical, but those that did tend to do so big time. Most of the prisoners here were non-Vulcans. The input from Jim, Bones and Spock was muted and low, like when they were sleeping.

Her hands were shaking and cold. She would have to think of something to calm her, something pleasant, to take her mind off where she was. Calm down, think things through and make the rest of the plan. Then follow the plan. A memory floated to the forefront of her mind and she concentrated on it.

She'd answered the chime of her door to see Spock standing there in his uniform holding a small blue pottery bowl containing a Vulcan cactus. "Dr Taylor, I have brought you a gift that I thought you might be interested in. Humans consider it the prettiest flower on Vulcan." Her mouth curved at the memory, he'd probably taken a survey. It was beautiful; vivid blue petals curled around a central yellow bud, bordered by dark green leaves, the whole flower small enough to fit in his cupped hand. The pot matched one Gillian had admired at Leonard's house.

She had invited him in and watched as he had fussed over the plant, showing her how to set up the ideal growing conditions, waiting for her to ask him to stay, pretending that he wasn't waiting for her to ask him to stay. It had been then that she knew. Standing there, watching his fingers as he placed the care tag on the bottom of the pot, in the precise centre, listening to his deep voice as her told her all the information that he had placed on the tag. She had been struck by the realisation that when he left her, it was going to be agonising because it had moved far beyond being a fling for her. She had tried to be all modern and casual about it all but had failed dismally.

He was so completely adorable to her. He never just came by to see her. Someone, her guess was Nyota, had told him to bring gifts so he always did. She had ended up with a collection of twenty-three little pots of flowering cacti after she had complemented the first one. It had taken him that long to be certain that she had meant it when she said he could drop by for a quick visit; that not every date had to be a carefully planned all-day event. She had been ready to scream. Of course she preferred to see him every day rather than once a week. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed finding out more about the new world she now lived in, but she liked just having him there too, liked watching him move about her apartment with the delicacy of a large cat, liked that he listened to her, talked to her seriously and intelligently on any topic, liked feeling him beside her in her bed.

There had been an implied time limit. She didn't know what it was, but one day he would re-enter his arranged marriage and that would be the end. She wanted to spend as time as possible with him but had let him set the pace of their relationship. She'd known so little of him at that time. Each new fact she learnt had thrilled her and fed the initial attraction but she hadn't realised that it had gotten so out of her control until that day. She'd been unsure what to do with the knowledge but he had looked up at her, standing watching him and she had smiled her love at him and offered him her hand, drawing him to her. It was too late, she would gather up all the happy memories she could, hoard it to herself, until that inevitable day when he broke her heart. A day that hadn't come and that she had ceased to expect and only dreaded a little.

The swish of a door alerted her to a visitor. Her head snapped up and she unfolded her body and checked she was decently covered. The visitor was a dark, lean Vulcan woman of indeterminate age, a charcoal sash identifying her as a prison employee.

"I am T'Jun, may I enter?" she asked in a twangy Texan accent, not attempting to cross the threshold. Most Vulcans on Earth spoke English but there was less call for it on Vulcan and the Universal translator was usually employed. The accent showed she was wasn't using it.

"Yes," said Gillian and watched T'Jun walk into the room. "You may remain seated," T'Jun continued, tapping a dark line on the wall and waiting while another bench slid out. She folded her body elegantly onto the seat and began to lecture without any further preliminaries.

"The purpose of imprisonment is fourfold; to punish those who are guilty, to deter others from committing the same crime, to keep dangerous prisoners away from the general population and to allow for rehabilitation of prisoners into productive members of society."

"Your conviction will accomplish the first two goals. You acted to save the life of your child and thus will be unlikely to reoffend and be parted further from your children. This leaves the last item. I am here to assess your mental state and determine a course of counselling to rehabilitate you. We will have daily meetings while you are here to discuss your state of mind and tutor you in logic." Gillian stared at her, disbelieving her ears.

"I need a lawyer and access to my children, not a psychologist. I am not the one who had a logic fail. I want to lodge an appeal."

"An appeal based on what grounds?" T'Jun asked sedately.

Gillian pushed away her irritation and tried to keep her tone of voice level. "Based on the fact that what I did was legal and only someone with an irrational fear of genetic engineering would think otherwise."

"You have been found guilty by a panel of Vulcan experts. It is illogical to think that they are wrong," T'Jun remonstrated.

"If Vulcans are never wrong why is there a process for appeal? The facts say that they are wrong, it is not an opinion," Gillian insisted.

"Your attitude to authority is confrontational. This seems to be a recent development," commented T'Jun. Someone hadn't read her file then.

Gillian ignored her and turned the conversation to important matters. "When will they let me see my boys?"

"Prisoners are allowed full access to children under the age of one year. Then you must nominate a guardian for them. Visitation will be four hours every four days or two hours every second day as determined by psychological assessment." Spock needed to get home as soon as possible.

"They are already a year old. Carol Marcus," she said promptly. Forgive me Amanda, but Vulcan citizenship seemed to be a disadvantage here. They kept expecting her to just fall into line and behave like anyone else. Something she'd never been good at. She was prepared to fake it if it seemed advantageous.

"The boys have been recently traumatised by an unexpected separation from me. I request extra visitation for their sake." Even if she could have them here with her until Spock arrived.

"The matter has been noted in your file. A separate psychologist will assess their mental state." Well, that was something, would a human or Vulcan psychologist be better? A human would be sympathetic but a Vulcan would understand the nature of the parental bond.

T'Jun began lecturing, "Cthia is often translated by humans as logic when the true meaning would be closer to reality-truth."

"Perhaps you should be lecturing T'Pau, then," said Gillian but she piled the pillows against the wall and smoothed out the sheets.

T'Jun continued her recitation which turned out to be 'The Teachings of Surak' in English, which started with the word cthia. Spock had recited the entire thing for her and when Gillian was on bed rest, Sarek had chosen it to help her improve her spoken Vulcanur. "Excuse me, do you speak High Vulcan?" she asked, interrupting mid-sentence.

"I have some knowledge of it," answered T'Jun. Vulcans in the diplomatic corps were so much better at answering implied questions.

"Are you able to recite 'The Teachings of Surak' in High Vulcan and if so, would you do so, please?" Gillian settled into a comfortable position.

T'Jun hesitated, head tilted as though she did not understand. Under normal circumstances, her imitation of a canine mannerism would have been amusing. "I am capable of doing so. I was not aware that you spoke High Vulcan. It is not logical to recite in a language that you do not speak."

"I don't speak it, but I have heard the 'Teachings' in two languages so if you recite them in a third, then I will be able to compare the two and it won't have been a complete waste of your time." T'Jun needed to work on her mask, a lack of approval was sneaking through. Of course, if her job consisted of readings books to people who had already read them, she had the patience of a saint. Gillian would have to try to be tolerant.

"Listening to the words of Surak is not a waste of time. It is possible to find further meaning or to realise a better comprehension of a concept during a reread," T'Jun scolded.

"True," said Gillian, "But not all of us have an underdeveloped amygdala, and I don't feel the need to pretend that I am one of them. I have my emotions under control to a level that I feel comfortable with."

T'Jun restarted the recitation in High Vulcan and Gillian concentrated on seeing all three lots of words in front of her. T'Jun had a woman's alto and the look of it contrasted with the heavier appearance of Sarek and Spock's baritone. She let herself become immersed in the comparison and let the outermost level of fear and stress leave her. Deep inside the icy fear of failure grew, vile and horrifying. When T'Jun left, she would be able to think clearly.

After dinner, she waited for the nurse to take readings and dole out her medication, did her stretching exercises and then sank onto the mattress, waiting for sleep to take away the horror of the day. Tomorrow she would find a way out of this predicament.

Sleep fled from her. Her mind raced, and she couldn't find a comfortable position. The baby moved restlessly within her and she rubbed her belly. Plana-Hath, she was supposed to be called. Gillian had picked out the name with Spock while they were waiting for the birth of their first child. He wasn't supposed to know, but he had gone through lists of Vulcan baby names with her and she had picked ones she liked the sound of.

T'Plana-Hath was a famous Vulcan philosopher and the ship which had carried Solkar and his crew to First Contact with humans had been named after her. Gillian liked the quote "Logic is the cement of our civilization, with which we ascend from chaos, using reason as our guide."

Then of course, he hadn't wanted to use the name when the baby died before it was born. She had given in, not caring at the time, but it had become clear to her that he expected her to use it now. And she kind of didn't want to. Clear revulsion would have helped. Or if he had outright demanded that she do it, she would have refused. But he just wanted it and he wanted so little out of life and seldom got it but deserved everything.

Warm tears splashed onto her hand. It was all too much to decide. She let the tears flow, not caring if she was being watched. She would sleep when she was finished and it would be easier to think in the morning.


	63. Chapter 63 Law Of Unintended Consequence

The outer door chimed and McCoy straightened and rehearsed his lines in his head. Instead of an official party of healers, a tall leggy woman entered the small sitting room.

"Christine," he voiced his surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Ny, of course," she said, dropping her luggage on the floor beside the right hand couch and reaching out for a hug. He squeezed her tight. "There aren't many commercial trips to Vulcan and they're overbooked at the moment since the Ambassadorial fleet is down a ship. In the end I had to go all the way out to Alpha Centauri and connect with the 'Excelsior'."

She leant back and searched his face, her concern visible. "Any updates on where she is? I haven't heard anything since they headed for Norpin. Interference was terrible from our angle."

"Still on Norpin as far as I know," he said. "I'm pretty sure they're pinned down. I don't think Spock got our last message. Jim thinks he's in hospital so they'd be stranded."

"What message? What have you done?" she demanded, running a hand through her dark hair.

"Gillian's been arrested…" he started, only to be cut off mid-sentence.

"What? When? Start from the beginning," she said.

"Six years for illegal genetic manipulation. Five days ago," he summarised.

She nodded her understanding. "So, are you trying to break her out, or what? I mean, this is Vulcan in the heart of the Federation, not some barely-Warp-capable planet in the middle of nowhere where you can run off afterwards. Not that Jim wouldn't love a life on the run. This wasn't his suggestion, was it?" she asked suspiciously.

"It was actually," he admitted. "But we're not trying to break her out, we're trying to break the boys in. Getting them all out is the next step but appeals could take months."

"So what's the plan?" she asked, intrigued. "I heard the boys crying but they just sounded overtired."

"Oh, they are, he said, ushering her through the connecting door that led to the small infirmary Sarek kept stocked for visitors and into the examination room after that. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of coffee and vomit that pervaded the room. The air scrubbers were turned up to the maximum but they had limits. Jim Kirk lay on the narrow bed, eyes closed, pale and shaking. The visual display on the wall showed his accelerated heart rate and overactive brainwaves. Saavik removed her hands from his hair and placed a cool washcloth in its place, face blank, as though it were mere procedure.

"Caffeine?" Christine asked and he nodded. He hadn't known her yet during their second year at Starfleet when Jim had tried taking caffeine tablets so he could stay awake and study for an exam after a weekend of partying. She was familiar with his records, though and Bones had told her the story while they were on late shift. Jim's weird physiology made him allergic to so many things, immune to a lot of drugs but over susceptible to others. Unable to sleep for four days, he'd combined the effects of too much caffeine, shaking, vomiting, and anxiety attacks with the withdrawal effects of shaking, upset stomach, and insomnia. He'd passed his astrophysics exam even without the extra study but not well enough to move into Engineering. He'd had to apply for Command instead. At least, that was how he told it.

"I injected a high dose to start with," he confirmed. "The coffee's just to keep it in place. We're hoping that the medical board will be here soon and we'll need to take it off quickly. I thought you were them, actually. If you don't mind, I'll get you to do a full blood flush since you're qualified. Saavik was going to do it but this way she can concentrate on her other task." Christine moved to the bench and inspected the medical supplies he had hastily assembled from the infirmary and nodded, her hands touching lightly on each item. He hadn't wanted to buy anything and draw attention. It wasn't the best way to perform a blood cleanse but it would do.

She crossed the room where Jim was lying on the cot, laying her hands across his flushed forehead and tilting his chin to examine his bloodshot eyes.

"This isn't normal, is it? I mean, I've seen you drunk and not everyone was walking unsteady. And you're fine now, while he's like this."

"I have altered the bonds," Saavik replied. "I have the requisite training. The bonds involving Dr McCoy have been narrowed to reduce the effect on him, although he is unable to attain deep levels of sleep. We have been substituting meditation. Dr Taylor and the boys have been linked more strongly to Captain Kirk so the effects of the drugs are felt. It was necessary to involve Spock in this because he is the central point. Had he received our message, he could have ameliorated the effects by 78% and made adjustments to cope with them. According to Dr McCoy and Captain Kirk, he has not done so. The logical conclusion is that he did not receive the message and mental confusion affects his ability to determine the cause."

"Okay," Christine said to him. "So, you are going to give testimony at the prison. When you get there, I flush the drugs out of his system and Saavik manipulates the bonds so that everyone gets better at the moment when Gillian and the boys are reunited. Is that the whole plan?"

"Pretty much," he admitted. "I suggested to Amanda that she encourage Sarek to take her somewhere else. So, she knows that we are up to something and he probably suspects but is ignoring it."

The door chimed again and he pulled the communicator out of his pocket and silenced it. "I routed the door control through it, so they wouldn't catch me unaware. I've also left an open call to Gillian's communicator which Saavik has." He waved his hand in the general direction of the drawer where it was concealed. "When I pass within the security line of the prison, it will cut out and Saavik calculates that it will take twelve minutes from then until I am in Gillian's presence, so get as much caffeine out of his system as you can and dose him with a half dose of Ancaff to quell the withdrawal symptoms." He ushered her back into the sitting room of his suite and guided her to the lounge where they both sat. It was so much easier dealing with a human and a known one at that. He'd had to spell out everything to a doubtful Saavik.

Not knowing how long it would take the Vulcan doctors to go through whatever protocols were in place, he started bringing her up to date, as he would if she were just visiting. "Jim went on a long hike into the desert a few days ago. You know how he likes hiking and climbing, especially after an illness. He took Saavik with him for safety reasons, so don't fret. None of this started until then. Carol's at her wit's end, trying to calm the boys down. Gillian gave her custody and she's a bit overwhelmed, especially with Amanda deciding at the last minute that she wanted to attend a lecture on Earth. She took issue with one of that Vulcan lecturer's arguments and wants to refute it in person. Unfortunately, they are just inconsolable without her. Enter." He addressed the last to the door which had chimed.

Standing, he walked towards the group of four uniformed Vulcans. One was the senior healer he had spoken to when he had lodged the appeal, a younger assistant and two guards.

"Healer V'Lesk, this is my friend Dr Chapel who has just arrived for a visit. Christine, this is Healer V'Lesk who is here to assess my claim that Serek and James' mental health has been compromised by their mother's sudden incarceration." Christine and the healer exchanged polite greetings and Bones turned his attention back to V'Lesk. "Have you reached a conclusion," he asked.

"There is insufficient information to do that. We shall have to bring the children to the prisoner and determine whether their symptoms improve." Bones had expected that, so with a quick "I should be back by lunch," he kissed Christine's cheek and left. Carol was waiting with the boys in the lobby. She must have heard the door and had grabbed the boys and their luggage. The screaming of two very overtired babies intensified when the assistant healer tried to hold Serek and Carol was permitted to accompany them to the prison building. Conversation was all but impossible.

Once they arrived at the prison, he had to estimate the time. Repeated checking would look suspicious, but Saavik's estimation as to how long the security procedure took seemed accurate. He'd brought along a tricorder and PADD which needed to be scanned and slowed his walking pace a fraction to give Christine as much time as possible. Soon, he was standing outside a plain door in a corridor beside a nurse holding a whimpering baby. Someone strange was near, watching him. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he wanted to turn around but forced his gaze forward. He knew that Saavik was watching for the right moment to act, they wanted the boys with Gillian not just within the confines of the prison. He let his discomfort stay in the forefront of his mind so she could feel it.

"Dr Taylor." Healer V'Lesk called her name through the open door three times before MCoy saw movement. She was standing in the corner, twisting her fingers. Beethoven on the piano, some random thought told him. Dark circles marked her face like bruises and she was shaking, whether with fear or lack of sleep, he couldn't tell. Her small frame was swamped by the floor length white robe whose sleeves must cover her hands when not pushed back. She looked terrible but the sight of her was welcome. Gillian stared in confusion, as though searching for the appropriate phrase. Her eyes cleared and she said "Come in," and the group of healers moved into the room, coming to a halt mid-room at the sudden silence of the children.

A high pitched cry broke the trance and James launched himself from the arms of the nurse. The nurse, young and inexperienced with children, grabbed him around the waist, preventing his fall to the floor. Gillian rushed forward to grab hold of him. "Mama," he squealed, wrapping one arm around her neck in a death grip and smacking her face with the other. "Want Mama. Bad Mama." She kissed his tear stained cheeks and looked for her other child. He was huddled in the arms of another nurse, head tucked in, and peeking glances at her. She slipped her other hand under him and shifted him to her hip. She turned her face towards him and mouthed "Thank you."

"Dr McCoy has testified that your imprisonment is causing unacceptable levels of stress in your children. Their caregiver is unable to calm them or make them sleep. T'Jun reports she is unable to train you to meditate the symptoms away. Your parental bond will have to be severed for their mental health." He was cold all over, frozen to the spot, unable to reply. He'd vomit if she could move. Gillian's expression told him she felt the same way. She retreated to the far wall, as far as possible from the healers. A useless defence that she attempted anyway.

The doctor continued. "For the mental health of the child yet to be born, this will have to be done after you have delivered. It is the decision of the court that you may have your children with you until then. They will be placed in the custody of Dr Carol Marcus for eight hours each day to become accustomed to her care. You counselling is cancelled for today to allow you to catch up on your sleep."

Gillian nodded and whispered in a hoarse voice "Thank you," and received the customary "Thanks are illogical," from the healer. "Your health is a high priority." Bones remained standing, watching her rock the sleepy boys as their eyelids closed for longer and longer periods.

"Dr McCoy." Suddenly aware that his name had been called more than once, he turned and left the room. In his profession, he was used to pushing through extreme exhaustion but with the bonds returning to their normal level, he was feeling everyone else's fatigue as well. He suppressed the yawn and followed the healer down the hallway. His job wasn't over quite yet. He would sleep and then they would have to work on a plan. How hard was it to stage a break out on a Vulcan prison?


	64. Chapter 64 Run Without a Destination

Nyota directed the instruments toward the gaseous cloud again, watching as the data from the scan appeared on the screen. The computer assigned the readings a moderate probability of unnatural origin but it felt somehow more than that to her. Gut instinct was one of the things which set human crewed ships above the exploration drone ships which gathered the initial information about an area.

The drones were good as far as they went. They had identified many dangerous and toxic areas without loss of life. They had been further improved by the adjustments made by heavy modifications of Daystrom's M-5 circuitry combined of course with a lack of weapons but they lacked human qualities.

The sensor probes sent into this area had not returned. None of the data they sent had indicated a cause for the problem before the signal was cut off. The readings all showed an innocuous, if not life supporting cloud which might one day become the birth place of life. The composition of the cloud resembled the composition suggested by scientific theory to be suitable for the formation of a solar system in several million years. Some scientists hypothesized that it should be left alone to develop. Others, that the introduction of energy or matter might be the motivating factor in the development of life.

Nyota had no opinion on the matter, though she was sure it was a subject of serious debate whenever Spock, Gillian and Carol got together. What did matter to her was the possibility of her husband's presence in there.

The small scout ship had crossed and recrossed the area of space that could reasonably be expected to contain the "Jenolan'. They had expanded their search area to include the area a Romulan ship could possibly have used for reconnaissance, checking for the emission trail that would betray their earlier presence. Spock's intuition, sorry calculations, had been correct. There had been traces that Romulan ships had passed through as little as a year before. Spock had sent off the recommendation for a buoy to be placed. Or replaced, rather, as the area was supposed to have contained one but it had stopped transmitting eighteen months ago. Starfleet had attributed its lack of signal as interference or destruction by the sensor eating cloud. The proof of Romulan presence would speed up its replacement. Negotiations had been started, querying Scotty's possible status as a Romulan prisoner of war. They wouldn't find anything. Nyota believed many things but not that Scotty could be confined on a place full of technology for weeks without making contact with the Federation; on a barren rock, maybe.

She changed the parameters of the filters over the signal which returned to her, altered by its passage through the cloud of gas. The alterations were not random though. The signal was changed rather than scrambled. There was a pattern to them. Irregular but it tugged at her mind in a way that was not quite familiar. She tweaked the filter again and listened to the resulting signal. There were signs of intelligent communication, not interference from the cloud. Her fingers flicked over the controls and the drones rolled and capered in response to her commands. Surrounding the cloud, they took readings from different angles. She wasn't going to charge in before she knew what had happened to those drones. And, if she was right, what had happened to Scotty as well. She wasn't sure what had happened, whether it was a concealed Romulan weapon or a new species, but she wouldn't stop until she found it.

It definitely sounded like language. The changes in pitch and tone wove through the familiar grooves in her mind. Not regular, but not random either. Some sounds repeating more often than others. She sent a request to the pilot, to bring the scout ship closer to the cloud. As if in response to their presence, lightning flickered, lighting the view screen orange which bled to pink.

The resemblance to an Earth thunderstorm vanished abruptly as the puffy clouds streamed towards the top of the screen. Her gut lurched as the ship swung around to port. Long years of practice kept her in her seat, feet braced on the floor. The lightning was coming from the left now, instead of the top of the screen.

Doors at the back of the bridge slid open and Spock arrived, displacing the Vulcan who had the Captain's chair. She stood a little hastily, the gravity limits were the same as a human crewed ship, since there were human crew on board and she was used to the higher Vulcan gravity. It was the middle of third shift but Spock was wearing the Vulcan uniform robes in gold. Under normal circumstances, Nyota would have been asleep but they had arrived in this area of space an hour or two earlier and she hadn't wanted to wait to get started, her time here would be limited.

"Report," said Spock. The officer who had recently vacated the captain's chair replied "Commander Uhura requested that the ship be brought as close to the anomaly as possible at varying angles to obtain more accurate scan data. Half of the drones have been lost during surveillance so she has been using the ship's scanners to supplement them.

"The anomaly shifted as we moved closer and energy discharges have increased in both frequency and intensity. The pilot made adjustments to the ship's position until safety protocols were within normal parameters."

At the end of her speech, the woman moved to the science station, displacing T'Para, who moved out of the bridge. Next in rank, Uhura spoke "When I run filters, the signals I receive back have many of the hallmarks of language. I am unsure what's in the cloud, not enough data was returned from the drones before they were destroyed." She wanted to say "This could be it" but knew he would only argue with her. He knew. Data was still streaming over her screen. She selected the ones that had caught her attention and sent them to his console. A single crease in his brow was as good as a frown from anyone else. He didn't believe her. He was going to force them to push on, back to Vulcan. He spun the chair to face her and levered himself out of it. "Nyota…' he began. She turned back to her station, facing her back to him.

In truth, she hadn't expected him to last this long, had thought he would try to argue her back weeks ago. Instead, he had just let her go where she wanted, offering judgement free advice. He really wasn't well. The decision to send T'Para had been a good one. Spock sat in the Captain's chair for his shift, ate, slept, meditated and made a daily call to Vulcan. If he felt Scotty's loss, it wasn't in a way she could see. T'Para, on the other hand, had been a good listener and in a strained, halting voice had spoken of her grief when her first husband had died. How everything in the world had dimmed for her and nothing gave her pleasure any more.

He had given in to her plea to take a different route back to Vulcan and allowed them to detour past this area of space, even though he must want to hurry back. They had left Norpin less than an hour after his recovery from Jim and Leonard's little scheme. He hadn't even stopped to throw Leila off the ship. The Vulcan who normally captained the craft had hired her to replace a departing crew member and it would have taken days, not hours, to sack a crew member for no reason. In her defence, she had taken the job before meeting with Spock and had kept to her cabin so much that Nyota hadn't seen her.

The chair fell away beneath her and she fought the urge to gag. The pilot was certainly getting as close to the cloud as he safely could. She ran the filters over the signal again and was rewarded with a rhythmic response. This time, there was a gap in the noise; interference, perhaps from a ship hull? Excitement curled within her. She had joined Star fleet, to explore the unknown and make it knowable. Her parents were both veterans and had died in separate accidents, leaving her sister with no desire to ever leave the surface of the planet. And she never had, as far as Nyota knew. Nyota had the same taste for adventure her parents had. To be the first, or the first human to set foot on alien worlds, to experience firsthand things others only read about or saw on screen.

"I think I have something," she reported.

"Nyota," Spock said again from behind her.

The ship lurched to the side and she threw up her arms to brace for what would be a nasty fall and instead, everything vanished. One moment she was seated in the communications Officers chair in uniform, the next, she was not. Nothing replaced what had been taken, no sight or sound or touch. Drifting, she wondered if this was death and but knew it wasn't because she was alone. So many she knew had gone before her. She wasn't afraid, she just waited.

Into the silence, the rasp of her laboured breathing intruded. Her stomach lurched, they were tumbling, tossed by the storm outside. Nausea churned her stomach and her forehead pounded. Cold metal pressed against her right side, the emergency protocols had engaged and she was pressed to the floor, the artificial gravity mechanism engaged. Her right side throbbed, bruised and swollen. She raised her fingers, trying to gauge the level; four G's she estimated. She was relieved. It could go as high as five, but very few people lived through an event that caused that. She wiggled her jaw and the communication toggle pulled against her ear, it was still in place. "Report," she croaked, then swallowed and repeated herself, louder this time. How long had she been unconscious?

A masculine voice came from across the bridge, clipped with the accent of a native Vulcanian speaker from the main continent. "I have no controls or navigation. I am attempting to orient the ship and maintain direction. I have been unable to gain a response from anyone for the last six point eight minutes. There may have been additional time between the event and my reacquisition of sensory input." An odd but accurate turn of phrase, she thought.

The main force must have come from the front, throwing him backwards into his cushioned seat. She, and everyone along the starboard side would have lurched sideways and been thrown to the floor. She swept her arm in an arc. Spock had been to the right of her. Her fingers encountered nothing but the cool metal of the floor. Too cold, environmental controls were failing and the cold of space was encroaching. The bridge was right near the outer shell and would cool fastest. Ideally, they would relocate to the auxiliarybridge further inside, if they could move. She considered the idea that they had done so, leaving her and the pilot the only ones here but dismissed it. An injury severe enough to cause unconsciousness would have brought medical in droves, unless, of course, everyone else was worse. If Spock was injured, would they think to reassure her in the rush to save the badly injured?

The silence from the toggle spoke against it. No one had reported other than the pilot. She croaked out another command to the computer and listened to silence as the channels rotated. Not even static. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and pain lanced through her skull. She was on Ambassador Sarek's small scout ship, not the 'Enterprise'. There was no auxiliary bridge and she had to use different frequencies.

"Computer, priority voice control." She gave the correct commands and ran through her emergency procedures, setting off an alarm beacon. She gave most commands digitally to avoid having everyone on the bridge talking at once but in this case, it was better to use voice commands. She wasn't sure how the pilot was getting readings in the dark. Perhaps it wasn't dark, maybe the blow to the head had rendered her blind like a romantic heroine. No one else answered her hail, though. A soft clicking of the pilot's commands was the only sound.

"Computer, detect Norpin Colony." It was the closest Federation outpost; the beacon signal should be easily detectable.

"Norpin Colony not detected," was the mechanical reply, accented in Vulcan, of course.

"Computer, boost signal using protocol 17b then repeat command."

"Norpin Colony not detected." She continued changing and enhancing the signal, receiving the same reply but didn't stop. There was nothing else to be done. She crawled, avoiding weight on her elbow.

Pink light flooded in through the view screen, blinding her. She blinked away the sudden pain. A periodic happening, which combined with the movement nausea, would give the pilot some information. It came from in front of her, not behind where she had expected, she'd rotated in her fall. Adjusting her mental picture of the bridge, she inched her way to where Spock would have fallen, listening to the computer repeat its negative findings.

It took longer than she thought, she had misjudged the distance from the wall. Panic was growing in her by the time her fingers brushed against the lower panel. She breathed in and out, deep regular breaths. Don't panic. Finding Spock is just a distraction. Your job is to get the ship out of this mess. The pilot knew she was awake and working. He would be concentrating on controls now that she was here to work on navigation. He was so silent it was creepy, but knowing he was there, she was not alone, was still comforting. They were within the anomaly and it was blocking the signals which would lead them to safety. The scout ship would only take so much pressure before it tore apart, dumping them into the harsh space environment. Anything else that was out there would hardly have an effect on their life expectancy. She pulled her feet around and rolled so she was face down and parallel to the wall and slid sideways, covering the most ground in her search. Her leg protested, her ankle was sprained if not broken and she would be lucky if it would support her weight even under normal gravity. Her knee was reluctant to bend, too. She pushed forward, all the power coming from the uninjured leg.

Standard scanning protocols exhausted without result, she racked her brain for more unusual ideas. She asked for the drone signals. Two streams of beeps were her answer. Close together and not enough to navigate by, the signals were garbled nonsense, any semblance of language absent. She ran them through the computer for analysis anyway. Lacking other options, she set the drones to report to the Norpin Colony with whatever data they had. If she couldn't save this ship, she might save whoever came after. Pink light streaked with orange tones illuminated the bridge again but, facing away, she wasn't blinded. The pilot would have been though. It had taken a while for Spock's inner eyelid to open after light like that.

The ship lurched and she swallowed. She didn't need to be crawling in vomit. Then, the violent rocking ceased and the ship settled into a gentle rocking motion and gravity returned to Earth standard. Not the still state a space flight should be but an improvement. Now, they just needed a direction. Inspiration struck. Spock had navigated through universes by the signal he had attached to Gillian. The distance between here and Vulcan was much less.

The far wall at the back of the bridge touched her shoulder. Spock wasn't there. She had crawled half the length of the bridge from where she had been and hadn't found him or any of the other crew who had been working the stations to the right of her.

"I am going to attempt to obtain a heading to Vulcan. Be ready to make the calculations." There were very few sounds Nyota had heard that were more welcome than the 'Affirmative" she heard back. Now, what frequency was the coded signal? She recited the thirty five digit number and access code.

"Code not …," replied the computer, cut off by the screaming of stressed metal. The ship jerked sideways and pain slammed through Nyota's skull as it met the wall. Lightning crackled through the air and she swore she smelt ozone. She braced for death.

The zigzagging light crackled and left her there, alive, ears buzzing, head throbbing. Deaf and blind, she continued dictating instructions to the computer. Her Communications override usually worked but this wasn't an official Starfleet signal and since Gillian wasn't on board, Spock hadn't been required to register it.

Her head was throbbing, it was hard to think. She was falling back into old patterns, thinking of herself as the Communications Officer. The pilot was deferring to her because she outranked him and no one else was here and conscious. She snapped out the change of command, making herself temporary Captain of the ship and stated the override. Please let Spock have the numbers stored electronically. If he'd picked up Gillian's paranoid habit of writing things down so the government couldn't access them, or just kept them in his memory, they were screwed. No, he wouldn't keep them in his memory for occasions just like this. If he died, others would need the information.

"Access to Captain Spock's personal files permitted," said the ship's computer. Relief flowed through her. This would be so much easier if they were on a screen in front of her.

"List files including word 'Gillian'," she ordered, somewhat pleased that the pilot, whose name she remembered was Storin, wasn't commenting. She was taking that as approval.

"Gift ideas for Gillian's birthday, Gillian's recipes, Inventory of Gillian's packing," recited the computer. Search terms, probably. Changing the parameter to pregnancy produced a terrifying list of related books which paled before the list she got for code and signal.

"Do you know the child's name?" interrupted the pilot. She didn't, it was a secret until the naming ceremony. Desperate, she tried Plana-Hath, Lali, 'Leonarda', Helen, Jane, Rebecca and Amanda, with only the last fetching a list of more than three items. Finally, 'Spockette' produced a list she had to resubmit her Captain's code to access. Item four on the list was the code. She entered it into the search and nearly collapsed with relief when the passcode entry was followed by a steady chime of a signal.

"Follow it," she ordered.

"The signal disagrees with my calculations" said the pilot, who, for a Vulcan, didn't sound that certain. The screeching of metal covered up her response but she felt the ship pitch and was slammed into the wall beside her for a change. The ship tilted and she slid across the floor towards the Captain's chair. Torn skin on her leg caught and dragged against the floor and the sharp stabs of pain competed with the throbbing of her head. She gritted her teeth and tucked her legs under her, coiled to brace against whatever she hit. Gravity forced her to the floor and she concentrated on dragging air into her lungs. Vibration rumbled up from the engines which strained at the demands placed upon them. The ship shook and force pummelled her from all sides. Her heart pounded, forcing blood through her system and her skin dragged back from her face. Even behind closed eyelids, she was giddy and gradually felt consciousness slip from her grasp as pain stabbed her arm.


	65. Chapter 65 The Hunting Of The Snark

The desire that had clawed at Spock for the last week had withdrawn in a tide of pleasure leaving him temporarily inundated and relaxed. She lay beside him lashes touching, slow even breaths feathering the hair that touched her lips. His fingers traced the line of her forehead, pulling the pale silky hair back and smoothing it out. He kissed Gillian's jaw and spoke softly into her ear. "You have pleased me."

He expected a response, shy or flirtatious thanks with perhaps a blush but she remained silent and he reminded himself to have patience. He anticipated that further improvement in her behaviour now that he had removed the cause of her discomfiture. Her standoffish behaviour had been prompted by her fear of rejection. If she had told him, he could have taken appropriate action but it was not logical to attempt to change the past. He had additional information and could proceed accordingly. He would buy her a present, jewellery of some kind and that would make her happy.

His bare skin pressed against hers enabled him to feel the sleepy, calm aftermath of sex coalesce into stronger, more agitated thought patterns. She squirmed and tugged at the sheet, smoothing it. Seeing her problem, Spock pulled on the opposite corner until the sheet beneath her was smooth and she calmed. Curling onto her side, she gave a soft grumble and burrowed her head into the pillow. Idly, he ran his fingers over the muscles in her back, back and forth.

Curiosity drove him to question her, even though it disturbed the new calm. "I have heard of scars like yours. There were reports after the war." His fingers found a raised edge and stroked gently along the line.

"Men are scum," she offered as explanation, rolling over and curling her body away from him and hugging the pillow on what had become her side of the bed. He drew her back to him, eliminating the gap she had left. He tucked her head under his chin. She would learn to like his touch. His body urged him to pursue her further but he repressed the urge and continued the conversation.

"The House of Chandra was notorious for hanging their enemies by the wrists, stabbing them to death, and then leaving their corpses on display," he prompted. He'd interpreted that as ten or twenty stab wounds, not hundreds.

"An exaggeration. You can see I am not dead," slight amusement tinged her voice and he was encouraged. He had tried to initiate conversations with her several times but received only one word answers or fearful cowering. Attempts to discuss his research with her earned him blank disinterested looks. Now that she was talking, he was loathe to stop the conversation. And he was curious. He had cleared his mental schedule for the disruption that would come with Khan's death but was still waiting for confirmation of the assassination. He had time to spend with her now. "How did you escape?" he asked.

"Sibahl saved me," she replied and jealousy prodded at him as he heard her use Khan's personal name. "He found me wandering around afterwards. I must have been a sight. It wasn't as bad as it looked. Most of my cuts bled very little because they'd happened over such a long time and shock had set in. I was up and about less than a week later with no medical care," she said as though describing an uneventful shopping trip, not an extended torture session. "I don't remember it at all, but that's what he tells me." A surprising qualification considering her devoted attitude, though explainable by something as simple as it being Khan's soldiers who had tortured her, not Chandra's.

He continued with his questioning, "The House of Navarre was infamous for the numbers of civilian deaths they caused despite being such a small House. They used biochemical weapons against large areas of India and Brazil, killing millions. They poisoned the oceans so fish and sea life became toxic to humans, causing widespread starvation. The Houses of Chandra and Khan banded together and destroyed Navarre at great cost in terms of lives lost." It had been at Navarre's main research facility that Gillian had disappeared from official records, presumed dead when explosions had levelled the building, killing the residents and an estimated half of Chandra's forces.

"The House of Chandra lost so many members the remainder were absorbed into The House of Khan. Khan is said to have used knowledge he obtained from the Navarre research facility to destroy many of the world's oil reserves, forcing the world towards nuclear power rather than dependence on fossil fuels." He was fishing for information. Someone at the Navarre research facility had triggered the self-destruct, presumably to stop their research falling to their enemies. Had it been Gillian or had she been working against them, carrying the results of their efforts out of the facility to buy her own safety?

"It was for the best," she replied. "Fossil fuels were very damaging to the environment. There were always oil spills endangering the ocean inhabitants. The world was overpopulated and causing a strain on the Earth's natural resources. The Amazon jungle would be extinct today if not for the deaths of those people." Spock slipped his hand under her shoulder and turned her to face him, moving over her so he could stare into her eyes. "It is estimated the geneticists who worked on those projects are responsible for over fifteen million deaths." He met her clear blue untroubled gaze. "Humans are a great deal further from extinction than many other animals," she explained. "Not only could their population absorb the loss, there should have been an increase in the quality of life for those who remained with the lower demand on the world's resources. In return, the pressure on many endangered species would be relieved and the effects of global warming reduced." He'd served the Empire for many years and had seen the indifference humans had for the life of other races but he'd never seen it directed towards their own race to quite this degree. He could detect no guilt at all for her part in the mass murder.

"Do you consider Augments to be better than humans?" he asked, trying to guess her motivation. She gave a bitter laugh. "Of course not, they're just as bad. They concentrate so much on the Super part of the label they ignore the Soldier part. They're grunts, foot soldiers. Why do you think they're so obedient all the time? The inmates are running the asylum. Khan knows how to conquer, not to rule. The house of cards fell over as soon as he stopped fighting."

"And then what?" asked Spock, although he thought he knew. His scientists had discovered a large reservoir of inert biological liquid in a custom built cradle in the hold. The 'Botany Bay' was headed into deep space on a trajectory leading to no planet known or suspected of being capable of supporting human life. Already twelve of the units had failed. If they had been 20-50 years later, all the machinery would have run down, the inhabitants dead. There was no plan to settle a new uninhabited planet. They wanted their old uninhabited planet. Someone had sabotaged the route and cancelled the planet wide bombardment. Who had backed out of the plan, Gillian, Khan, one of the Augments on board or a human who had sabotaged the ship then stayed behind on Earth? What would they do now? If Gillian was telling the truth, most of the Augments would follow Khan but a few of the higher ranked ones must be capable of leadership.

"Sibahl became too powerful, the other Houses banded together against us. There was a major offensive and they defeated our forces. I had collected DNA samples from endangered species when I was with Navarre, so I knew of the "Botany Bay' and where it was. We fought our way through to the ship which was still untouched. I didn't think we'd make it, but I knew Sibahl would prefer to go down fighting and the ship gave him a goal. He's brilliant at what he does, as long as he doesn't overreach himself." Philippe Navarre was the eco-terrorist then; Khan had used his plan when desperate. She spoke of her own death with equanimity, as if not caring either way.

The door chimed and he slipped from the bed and hung his abandoned meditation robe in the closet. He drew her to her feet and they stood under the sonic shower for one minute before he retrieved a new uniform. "Dress yourself. You have a visitor." He'd ordered her clothes the day she arrived but she had ignored them in favour of the bodysuit that lay torn on the floor. Without comment, she walked to the wardrobe and drew took the top shirt from the pile, dropping it on the floor. She repeated the action until she reached a long sleeved shiny blue top which she pulled over her head. The track pants that lay on top of the pile passed inspection and she tugged them on. He stripped and remade the bed while he waited and tossed her torn clothes in the recycler. He pointed at her bare feet and she took a pair of pale blue slippers from the cupboard and slipped them onto her feet. Her heels pulled out of them as she walked to the couch, her feet must be smaller when she wasn't pregnant.

He commanded the door to open. Dr McCoy stepped inside, relaxing when he saw Gillian. Spock didn't understand how someone so weak of purpose had risen this high in the fleet. Wealthy from the bribes he was paid for good medical treatment and the occasional poisoning, he stayed in this position when he could, with three assassinations, have a profitable practice back on Earth. On the other hand, Spock had predicted his swift demise years ago but it hadn't happened yet.

"Dr McCoy is here to remove your scars," he told her, receiving a hard stare in response. "He will examine you on the bed." Without acknowledging him, she moved to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress, undoing the row of buttons and shrugging out of the shirt. She had no qualms about exposing her body now that he had seen it. He took up a position near the door. Scars from combat were a fact of life in the Empire. He had three on his back and it was illogical to waste time or money on removing them since they did not impede his range of motion. Hers were different. There was a piqueristic quality to them that he found disagreeable. He wanted the visible signs of it removed. The curve of her upper breasts exposed by her scoop necked top had been smooth and unscarred when he first saw her.

McCoy made sympathetic noises as his hands moved over her skin. It was probable that he had never seen such primitive scarring before. Spock refused to react to the sight. It was a medical examination, nothing more.

"I'll use the laser to stimulate the healing of the shallower cuts. Don't worry, it will be completely painless. With the deeper ones, the healing will be quicker if I cut the scar tissue out and treat the new wound. I'll do that under anaesthetic, but you will have be bandaged for a day or two afterwards, depending on the depth." His eyes shifted to Spock before he spoke again. "I'll do that in sections, over four days, so you won't be too uncomfortable all at once."

"Thank you," she said softly from beneath lowered lashes.

Spock gave a curt nod and watched the doctor set to work, holding the laser over each scar for five point two seconds, marking the deeper ones on her left arm and shoulder with red ink. He had no objection to the procedure being completed today but Gillian did not protest. Did she prefer the delayed pain or was she trying to anticipate his preferences?

"Can you undo your pants for me?" asked McCoy and Gillian chuckled softly as her hands moved beneath her. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls," she said. Spock strove to keep his jaw unclenched as McCoy tugged at the offending article of clothing. He hadn't heard that McCoy had split with his woman Nina. McCoy was always flirtatious with his female patients but only took monetary bribes. She wouldn't be so keen on him once he started peeling off her skin, either.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air and Gillian's skin was tinged with green by the time the treatment was finished. She had watched the whole thing with a combination of interest and nausea. McCoy finished wrapping her lower left arm in skin toned dressing and injected an anti-nausea hypospray that cleared her complexion and earned him a pleased smile. Three smaller dressings were stuck to her chest and back. Her motions as she dressed again were awkward. Arm numb from the pain medication, she lacked control over her hand.

McCoy gathered up the discarded skin and the blood stained steri-wraps and disposed of them down the recycler. Spock paid him for the entire series of treatments, he wouldn't dare renege, and told the doctor the times he wanted him back. Gillian smiled at McCoy and waved, saying a cheery 'goodbye'. McCoy gave her a small lopsided smile and left. Spock expected thanks but Gillian's smile faded once the door closed. Without turning her head to acknowledge him, she flipped back the sheets on the bed, kicked off her shoes, reclined against the pillows and started up her lecture as though he was still at work. With two taps on the main computer screen, he disabled her access and the screen went blank. She crossed her arms loosely over her body and continued to stare at the blank screen.

His thoughts had returned to their interrupted conversation. If revenge hadn't been Kirk's motive, what had? "Where did Kirk take you?" he demanded, moving to the foot of the bed.

"To the agony booth, Khan is in it," she said without turning her head to look at him. He reached for the communicator, abandoned on the bedside shelf when Gillian's screaming had interrupted his meditation. There were no messages so he tapped in Uhura's code and a quick numerical cypher indicating 'Target detained'.

The speed of her reply indicated she was waiting for contact. A line of numbers filled the small screen 'Target not acquired. Mission aborted. Tethered.' She would be stuck in her cabin avoiding Sulu in order to limit the number of times she had to play hot and cold. Ensign Reyes' whereabouts were unknown, she had not reported in, but she had known the risk of not getting the timing exactly right when she accepted the assignment.

He sent her a return message, placed the communicator on the shelf and turned to Gillian, clasping his arms behind his back.

"Did the Captain threaten you?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, not turning to look at him. "I am to make you happy in bed or Khan suffers."

"And that is why..." he began. She cut him off with a bored "Yes. Why else?" Spock decided not to punish her. That would not advance his cause. He would have to speak to Kirk about inserting himself into his relationship with Gillian.

"You need not fear him, your care and protection is a high priority matter. I will assign you a personal guard, a Vulcan who will not allow Captain Kirk access to my quarters. In return you will supply me with your obedience, loyalty and devotion." That should be an elaborate enough declaration for a human woman.

"I already have that arrangement with Sibahl," she countered, turning her head in his direction. "It worked great until I met you. If you take his money and let me go, I can be his advisor again instead of just your whore."

Spock realised he hadn't clarified well enough. "You are to be my wife."

"Not interested," she said. Human motivations were not his strongest subject. He was hindered by his Vulcan upbringing. His mother had tried to teach him, watching human holos and explaining the characters motivations to him but Sarek had disapproved. She had been correct about where he would end up in his life and he diligently applied the lessons to his interactions, aided by the fact that people were motivated by their basest desires most of the time.

"What do you want?" he asked, deciding on the direct route to information. Years in Starfleet had netted him a fortune, he could indulge her whims.

She blinked in his direction. "What?"

"I am willing to compensate you further for your time. Tell me what you want and we can modify our bargain." She lacked gratitude for what he had already paid but she wasn't as fond of Khan as she had seemed at first. He could probably have saved money and aggravation by asking her what she wanted in private, not in front of Khan's true followers. It would be worth it, his lifetime would be short if he didn't find a reliable bondmate. The Reldai had helped him through his first Time but they were an emergency measure and had already made veiled suggestions that he find a permanent solution rather than imposing on their members. The need to find his way to Vulcan in a timely manner made him vulnerable.

"Nothing you can give me," she replied, turning away from him. He took two steps closer to the bed and gripped her shoulder, gradually increasing the pressure until she drew in her breath and bit her lip.

"I want to belong to a race of beings that doesn't suck completely. Let me know when you achieve that one and we'll talk about my next demand." She was being ridiculous. He released 10% of the pressure.

"Humans have risen to being the pre-eminent power in this quadrant," he objected. Vulcans hated humans in their cold logical way but humans considered themselves to be the apex of evolution.

She tilted her head back to look at him and gave a harsh laugh. "I saw the bridge of the ship. Fifty per cent of the population were represented by one person."

"Lt Uhura did kill a large number of her female classmates in her rise to her current position," he acknowledged without bringing up why, which would not advance his argument. "Most women prefer subtler methods of advancement, but she prefers murder." She had been cautious in the beginning, contracting out the murders of those who had betrayed her and then killing the assassin and claiming revenge but after they became allies, she had soon accumulated enough rank to openly kill them. Frustration crossed Gillian's face, she lacked the information to argue the point further. It was harder for a woman to become Captain, but he wasn't going to make her argument for her.

"And how do humans improve the world these days? Do they maintain the environment and animals in their care? Are they great patrons of the arts and science or do they just mindlessly conquer and destroy other species, looting their planets?" she asked. He struggled to form an argument that wasn't a complete lie before she cut in with a sharp, disappointed "I see."

"Scientific research is an expanding field. I study it myself which you would know if you paid attention to me," he said. "You must ask for something that is within my power to give you and I will get it for you." He stared at her and she returned his gaze with bland boredom. When he had decided that she wasn't going to answer, she said "Chocolate."

She would ask for the hardest thing she could, but he had promised. "I will attempt to obtain some for you. Is there anything you want while you wait?"

She frowned, "Doesn't the food machine produce chocolate?"

"It does not," he explained. "It is theoretically possible but the codes have never been released by any Empress or Emperor, and the sentence for making an illegal copy is punitive."

"And no one on this entire ship would have any?" she asked accusingly, crossing her arms across her chest, tucking her hand in on the second attempt.

"I am not the one responsible for this," he countered, giving her a pointed stare. "The environmentalists who poisoned the oceans and land are. Large areas of farmland were forced to shift to the production of essential food items. There is only limited cacao bean production."

"Since when is chocolate non-essential?" she demanded. "No, don't tell me, they still make coffee and tobacco, don't they?" Her head drooped and she said in a sad little voice "It's official now."

"Coffee is still available," he admitted, "Both replicated and real. Tobacco has stringent growing requirements and is also an unhealthy habit. It was banned and no one smokes now. What is official?"

"We didn't make launch, did we? They caught us and blew the ship apart. I'm dead and in hell, being punished for my sins." She bent forward at the waist and twisted, flopping face down on the mattress. Her voice, muffled by her hair, was still audible. "There's no point to anything anymore."

"You are making a fuss over a lack of confectionary." He walked closer. "I have said I will obtain some for you. Would ice cream do for the moment?" without lifting her head, she shook it from side to side. "It's just not the same. This place just gets worse and worse," she wailed.

Confused, he returned to the living area and checked the results of his experiments. Three were fine, having continued without input, one was delayed, it would not continue until he gave the probe further commands. He read the new data and keyed in his directives. The remaining two would need to be restarted. He sent the code that would destroy the tests and set time delayed orders for someone to clear and reset the equipment. He would restart it tomorrow before his shift started.

He checked the video feeds but was unable to ascertain how Kirk was observing the cabin. Kirk had demonstrated knowledge that could only be obtained by surveillance cameras. Uhura had routed the feed from his cabin to his own records, supplying a looped recording. He updated it whenever he had several monotonous days of recording. He could not detect any unusual intrusions.

"Gillian," he called. "Come here. I want you to watch something." She gave a deep sigh but emerged from the room. In response to his hand gesture, she moved to the chair in front of the computer console, seating herself and waiting for his further command. Spock commanded the computer to show the security tapes of the first time she had arrived. Her arrival and exit, he cut most of the time she spent on the bridge. He watched her as she sat, engrossed in the recording, allowing him the freedom to observe her. Serene and relaxed, she resembled his expectations. Clever, inquisitive and astute, but not yet married, free to accept Spock's claim. Not the tense and indifferent woman who spurned him. It was beyond his understanding how the other Spock had secured her affections. It could be due to his higher position but Spock knew he had detected genuine affection between them.

Gillian had said they met when she was giving a lecture at the Cetacean Institute. Was that the difference? He had assumed that after her revival, she had made her way to Earth and had worked there as a cetacean biologist, but she hadn't said that. Perhaps she had been a tour guide instead. A short term with a low status job may have made the other Spock's offer more attractive. A stint on a star ship without a ranking patron could be…unpleasant for an attractive woman. His alternate self would have had an advantage over him as he had no intention of letting another have her now. Assuming she hadn't just lied of course.

"I've seen it, now what?" she asked in a bored tone of voice. She had turned her head and noticed his gaze.

"You do not have an opinion on what you saw?" he asked. Security filmed the public areas of the ship constantly and the records could be checked to determine the guilty party in a known crime. Most of it was filed unprocessed, there was just too much of it. It was a major source of blackmail material for ambitious Ensigns with time on their hands and the determination to sift through hours of footage. His Vulcan ability to process information faster than humans had made it a profitable source of power for him in his early years on board ship.

She swivelled the chair towards him. "Apart from the fact that she can't wait to get away from you either, what am I supposed to get from it?"

"Her affections were engaged elsewhere. Yours are not."

Gillian gave a harsh bark of laughter. "You were crawling all over her, without the slightest bit of encouragement on her part," she countered, moving the image so she could see the woman whose face she wore, smiling in relief as she entered the transporter room. The accusation hit a little close. Mild in human terms, his behaviour would have earned him a severe reprimand had he behaved in like manner to a married Vulcan woman. "I thought it would explain the situation more." Couldn't she see she was meant to be his? To be happy as the other couple were. She sighed. "So, you are planning to go to the other universe and swap me for her?" It would be much harder for him to engage the affections of an attached woman, so that was not a practical plan. He would have to train the one in front of him. "We are not going to swap."

"Pity," she said, deadpan. "He looks much nicer than you."

"He was in this universe for less than a minute," Spock protested, irritated despite his best efforts, but keeping his voice level and his face calm. Mating instincts were one of the hardest impulses to control and his seven years were nearly up. She belonged to him and should not be looking at other men. Or be seen by them, if he had his way, although that was not usually practical.

"Yeah, during which time he managed not to try and fondle your girlfriend," Gillian retorted. "Plus, she seemed happy to see him. So, where's the memory cube?" Spock produced the memory cube from a drawer near the desk. Nurse Chapel had sold it back to him the day after Dr Taylor left, claiming to be unable to open it. Spock had had a similar lack of success; designed to respond to Dr Taylor's voice it could detect the difference between the real thing and a recording. She had apparently removed his own voice access.

She held the cube close to her mouth and spoke "Christine" in a gentle higher pitched voice that stroked his libido and the memory cube provided a three dimensional hologram. Nurse Chapel, dark haired and dressed in a pale yellow wedding dress, stood beside Dr M'Benga, who had tried to kill McCoy for his position as Chief Medical Officer. Chapel had jumped from Junior to Head Nurse by slitting his throat while he held McCoy. The display cycled through a slideshow of twelve wedding photos. Nyota Uhura appeared to be her attendant and several members of the Enterprise crew appeared in a few group shots. He was absent, but McCoy, Kirk, and Chekov were there, startlingly happy and relaxed.

'Stand up," he instructed. She pushed herself to her feet and turned to face him.

"We shall discuss your part of our bargain," he asked. "You have not yet given me what I want." He reached out his hand and stroked her face.

"I gave you what you asked for," she responded. His first instinct was to disagree but reassessing their interactions, she was correct. She had not refused him, just manipulated him into leaving her alone. That would come to an end now. "Come here" he ordered and she took a small step forward.

"Kiss me," he instructed and didn't have to quash surprise when her lips brushed over his cheek. If she thought she could get away with not quite denying him, she was in for a shock.

He ran his fingers though her hair, pulling it into order. "You will not cut your hair or allow anyone else to cut it if you can do so without injury. You will remain faithful to me and you will not let anyone touch you or tell anyone any information that you discover while you are in my custody. You will be an enthusiastic sexual partner to me."

Prompted by his look, she shrugged and replied, "If I wanted to shorten my hair, I have already had ample opportunity. But I can totally keep fantasizing about attractive men while we have sex, if that's what you want. You would make it easier if you shaved off your stupid beard, though. So, if you want an achievable demand, there you go."

Irritated, he pressed his lips to hers again. She did not fight him, but accepted his kiss without responding to it. He pulled back and she resignedly murmured "Gosh, that was awesome, the best kiss ever," and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Stop that," he ordered. She was being blatantly insincere. She tilted her head back and lifted her eyelashes slowly, as though they were heavy, half concealing her eyes. Her pink bottom lip pouted out enticingly and trembled until heat flowed in Spock's veins. Her voice was soft and breathy "You are just so splendid. I don't know what I did to deserve you. I can hardly withstand the joy that just being in your presence brings."

He stared at her, letting his anger be visible. She shrugged and said, in her normal tone of voice, "I'm trying. If you want better, you'll have to feed me my lines."

Jim let the image on the screen fade. They seemed to be settling in for the night. Spock was finding the prize he'd bought bitterer to the taste than he imagined. He should have taken the research and run. It was nothing to Jim except that Spock knew who had helped him. He had thought that cute little Mrs Spock was a little too good to be true. He hadn't thought she would be this bad, but wasn't surprised that her public persona was an act. The painting slid back over the Tantalus Field that had helped him rise so quickly in rank in the Empire.

He passed through his bedroom and bathroom and unlocked the door to the adjoining suite. His woman's quarters so she was close at hand but not damaging his privacy. He hadn't told anyone about his favourite toy since the unfaithful Janice. He'd misjudged her and wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Marla had decorated the small living area with enough clutter for three women and hadn't even brought over all her things. He would have made her throw it out if he had any intention of keeping her long term. She could take it with her when she left. She was stunningly beautiful but not helpful to his ambitions. He had noted with amusement the painting she had of Khan, high on the wall, and that it hadn't made the trip. Marlena had not been amused at having it there, but his reassurances that it was only temporary had calmed her. She had noticed the admiring looks Khan had directed at the redhead.

His bodyguards chimed the door to announce the arrival of his prisoner. Khan entered the room and waited while they uncuffed him. Looking closely, Jim could spot the subtle signs that he had just spent three hours in the agony booth, strain around the mouth and a mild look of griminess and mussed hair.

"I do not consider your actions to be those of an ally," Khan said, picking up a drink from the side table and washing it down with a frown of distaste. Condescending bastard, Kirk thought. Everything was substandard to him. He even managed to exude an air of dissatisfaction with the 'Enterprise', the flagship of the Terran fleet. Like that decrepit thing of his was an improvement. It wasn't even his, according to Gillian, he'd stolen it.

"I have to tend my allies in order of importance," he said, smirking a little as he saw the muscles in Khan's jaw tense up. Khan tried but he wasn't taking the reduction in rank well. We all learn, he thought. His father had been Captain of a star ship and Jim's upbringing had been privileged until he was ten and his father died a traitor's death. Nogura hadn't taken his attempt at promotion too well. All the rank, wealth and privilege had been stripped away and Jim's mother had been forced to return to her family who had mocked her failure. Proud middle class plebeians who were forced to bow down to her for the fifteen years she was married, they had called her a whore when she returned home. To a grubby little apartment a quarter the size of the one Jim had grown up in that housed two, now three families.

She had fooled them all, of course, even him. He'd had to study hard to get into the academy without his father's rank to help him. The academy had been a harsh brutal place full of treachery. His older brother Sam hadn't been able to take it, transferring to the Terran Science Academy where, Jim had to admit, he'd done well. He'd resented her for years until his graduation, where she'd revealed to him some of the information she still had on several high ranking officers. She'd saved it, waiting for him to prove himself before giving it to him. To him, not to Sam. That was the type of woman he'd thought Janice was. One who would help his rise through the ranks. It wasn't entirely Winona of course, George Kirk had been a pilot and Second Lieutenant when they met but his rapid rise to Captain of a ship was due in no small part to his clever and ambitious wife.

"Spock and I have been allies for years. I'm not going to lose him until I have something concrete in my hands. So far, all I have from you are promises." He redacted the word empty from that sentence. His public persona was of someone with no self-control. It came in useful when he wanted people to believe that there was nothing he would not do but you couldn't ascend to his rank without control of everyone, including yourself. Khan didn't like that statement either, tensing a muscle in his jaw. Jim was envious. How much rank did you have to have that you didn't worry about showing your weaknesses in front of an enemy? He wanted that much and more.

"The chemicals degraded over the years, the stasis unit did not function as it should have. My people are working on it as we speak. They are not used to having to rush." Khan was sneering again. The mention of his people was to remind Kirk that he could not kill him without risking his own death, now that the Augments were on board. Jim didn't mention Spock's report that stated the chemical load in the cargo bay sling showed no signs of a stasis unit of any kind.

"I thought you were all super geniuses," he countered the argument, pushing his voice into a mocking tone. "Surely it can't take that long to reproduce the results on more advanced equipment." More tension tightened Khan's jaw before he smiled again. "These are my most valued friends. Those who made the weapon last time were just lab techs. Unfortunately, they were left behind in the rush." So, if Gillian had given them the formula at all, those who knew it had been killed or left behind. That markedly reduced Khan's usefulness to him.

"Your people keep killing my people," he accused. He'd been hoping that by putting Khan and Sulu together, one would kill the other but they'd been quite civil, although Sulu had been looking unwell. He could always use the Tantalus field but he liked to keep its use to a minimum. He'd been a bit free with its use initially and people were already talking about the number of people who had vanished once they became inconvenient to him but it was still only talk. He didn't want one of the Admirals to realise that he could literally make them disappear from his ship at will. They'd blow the 'Enterprise' out of the sky in order to kill him if they did. Several of the people who had disappeared had done so by conventional means, by him or someone he paid, to cover his tracks. The rumours that leaked out after those had done a lot of damage control.

Plus, if it had a recording capability, he couldn't work it. With a lot of experimentation, he had managed to get it to scan specific places on board ship and to track certain people by chips planted in their medals but he still needed to find them in real time and kill them when they were alone. Khan was never alone.

"A few of the lower ranked guards only, no one important," Khan said, waving a dismissive hand.

"What about Chekov?" he asked. Shifty little genius bastard had been on Kirk's radar even before he teamed up with Sulu. Jim had been going to make him an offer of Head of Security and a promotion but then Khan had turned up.

Khan blinked. "Short Russian genius? Is he dead?" Jim stared at him, trying to detect a lie but he seemed sincere. "Missing," he grunted.

"Excuse me." Khan flipped his communicator open and spoke into it. "Ling, do you still have that Russian guy, the navigator?" Jim couldn't hear the response but Khan laughed and said "Well, bring him to the Captain's cabin for show and tell." He flipped the communicator shut and poured himself another drink, topping up Jim's glass as well. "He'll be here in a few minutes."

So, Ling was high in Khan's organization, not just in stasis near him. He hadn't been sure after Gillian offered her to Spock, something he hesitated to do with women of rank. They had a tendency not to like it. So, high in rank but not as high as Gillian. But Gillian had to be hidden from the public who thought she was dead but she brought as much research as she could steal from Navarre. In the most basic low tech way possible, "I have a photographic memory". Did Ling have rank or was she just Gillian's public puppet? He would put someone onto her to find out, Ensign Reyes perhaps.

His question was answered soon as two tall giggling women arrived at the door escorting Pavel Chekov. Mussed hair, goofy smile and wearing a bathrobe, Jim was able to figure out what they'd done to him easily enough. His mood plummeted and the subsequent rounds of kissing, goodbyes and cheek pinches didn't improve it. Khan watched the two women with an indulgent smile before gently chiding them. "Ladies, the ensign has been missing work. He will be killed if this keeps up."

"Oh, not my Pavvie. If anyone gives you trouble, call me and I will kill them for you, dear one." The curly headed one kissed him again and patted his head. Khan interrupted her, "Everyone has to get to work." She pouted prettily but nodded. "Tell everyone else. Is he the only one?"

The other woman nodded but added. "Heike has that Scottish engineer but he insists on going to work all the time. Of course, I'm not sure she's even pregnant. Every time I drop around, they're talking engineering. So boring, not like my little stud, Pavel." Unsurprising update of the day, Scott never looked at women other than Ange.

She moved as if to kiss Chekov again and but Jim flicked his hands at the guards and they escorted Chekov away. Even the prospect of a few hours in the agony booth for missing work didn't seem to dampen his cheerful mood.

"You owe me," he stated, once the door shut again. Khan had gained everything in this alliance and he had nothing.

Khan smiled and sank back into the chair. Standing beside him, Jim smiled back and lunged forward, slamming his fist into Khan's face. Bone crunched under his fist and pain exploded down his hand. He'd broken his middle finger again but it was worth it to break Khan's nose. "Sit down,' he snarled as Khan lunged to his feet. Caught half way, Khan paused, lowering himself to the chair again. Jim stepped back for a better look. Khan's big nose was off centre and blood poured down over his lip. Banked fury made his eyes burn. Yes, it would have to be one of Khan's lieutenants, Khan would never be tractable. If he could obtain the secret of the biochemical weapons before Khan died, that would be a bonus. Otherwise, there was always the Tantalus Field and the Head of Security Insignia, for both Khan and whoever he was with.

He opened the door and called the guards. "Tell Marla to get here, now." The guard nodded and the door slid shut.

He smiled at Khan, not covering his disdain completely. "Apart from that, how are things in Security?" and listened while he gave a verbal report that matched the written one he had given earlier word for word. Marla arrived a few minutes later and he watched Khan watch Marla walk across the room. People had gotten the Agony Booth for less. Jim drew her down for a long kiss and then, as though he had just remembered his presence said to Khan "You may go now, the written report will be sufficient."

Khan swallowed the rest of his drink, saluted and stalked off. Jim slid his hands over Marla's breasts and pushed her away. "I'll be back later. I have a few things to take care off. Wait up for me." She nodded and moved to the closet, flipping through the dresses crammed in there. "The green one was nice, something like that would be good," he said as he left. He'd noticed Khan paid special attention to Marla and it might be worthwhile to encourage it. Even smart men could be led by their libido.

It was a short distance from his cabin to the Communication Officers rooms. He pressed the general bell while his bodyguards took up position either side of the door and enjoyed her throaty "Who is it?"

"It's me, Jim," he said and she let him in. His eyebrows rose at the loose flowing pink dress she wore. Covering more than her uniform did, the plunging neckline and slit up the side managed to convey the impression of covering less.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, throwing himself onto her couch. He wouldn't have left if he was, but it was unusual for Uhura. She wouldn't consider leaving Spock for anything less than an Admiral.

She removed the heavy gold earrings, dropping them on the table and rubbing her ears. "Khan was coming over for some advice. Spock and I hoped to provoke a fight with Sulu. Neither of them showed. Reyes was supposed to manoeuvre Sulu here but she's not answering my calls."

Jim could have kicked himself. "Shit, I threw Khan into the agony booth for a few hours to make Gillian a bit more pliable. If you'd let me know…" Uhura sighed and sat on the couch beside him, kicking off her heeled shoes and rubbing her toes into the arch of the other foot. He wrapped his arm around her. She stiffened then forced herself to relax. It was unfortunate. Apart from this foible, she was everything he was looking for in a partner, beautiful, sexy, and intelligent and had earned her own rank. Even her alliance with Spock was an asset if she would only put him first and Spock second and there would never be a better time than now, while they were not involved.

"Will he try to come here, do you think?" she asked, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Possibly," he admitted. "I won't stay long." Khan was unlikely to attack with the guards outside but he would check before he opened the door.

His tongue stroked her warm, wet mouth, enjoying her response. He stroked her nipple until it hardened. She allowed it, even responding a little, but he could still tell she was reluctant. He'd wanted her since that first time he saw that holo. It had been a disappointment to meet her and realise how cold she was in real life. He was starting to think she'd never get over her inhibitions, but it would be worth it if she did. He tried to visit her a little whenever he knew Spock wasn't here.

He drew back, reluctant, but nothing good would come of forcing it.

"If he's there, I asked you to do a search for some key terms. It's important and has to be done straight away."

She nodded and stroked his arm. "Thank you." The small irrational jealousy slid away. Khan was only a means to an end, she didn't like him. She just wanted to be rid of Sulu.

Where was Sulu? He'd probably spotted Reyes as bait. In Security, and technically an ally of Sulu's, he'd heard from two different sources that she wanted to get out of Security and Sulu must have gotten suspicious. He waited while she put the jewellery and shoes back on and checked her face in the mirror, touching up her lipstick. He moved and brushed the wrinkles out of her dress, a strangely intimate action. He had lots to do tonight but he wasn't going to hurry this.


	66. Chapter 66 The Pursuit Of Happiness

The harsh scrape of metal on metal echoed into the empty room, jarring her into wakefulness. Silence had surrounded her for so long she had all but forgotten anything else existed. The nothingness had lulled her into sleep eventually, but now something else was here with her, moving. Metallic clanging grew louder while she waited, frozen.

Bright light flooded the room, stunning and disorienting. After the long darkness, the input overwhelmed her senses. She tried to retreat, to block out the light but her body refused to obey her, remaining motionless, numb to her commands. Dark shadows loomed over her, shielding her from the light. Closer, the forms twisted and shrank, resolving into a tall being that made discordant noises in her direction. The sounds were rhythmic but meaningless, as though they were a language she did not speak. A second being seized her from behind and rolled her onto her side. She caught small glimpses of the spacious room beyond. None of which allowed her to make sense of her location. Nothing matched her memories, she had never seen this place, or these beings. Larger than her, similar but not identical in appearance to anything she remembered.

Her memories were dim, unclear and confused. Images and sounds jumbled together in a manner that made no sense. She had been injured. It was her most recent memory before the darkness and silence, and the clearest. She clung to it, turning it over in her mind.

Something she couldn't see had seized hold of her and pulled. It had taken her in its strong grasp and dragged her backwards away from her intended path. All her struggling had been futile. Immensely powerful beyond anything in her experience, she was helpless against its strength.

Slow at first, it picked up speed, dragging her faster and faster. Its grip tightened to almost crushing strength. She strained against it, putting all her effort into escape, with no result to show for her effort aside from exhausting her reserves of energy.

Finally, at the moment her destruction was imminent, the crushing vanished and the sudden cessation of force flung her forward. Blurs and flares of light swirled across her field of vision, so quickly that she couldn't determine what she was seeing. Loud crackling of energy marked her collision with something solid. Darkness enveloped her or she could no longer see, further disorienting her. She flew back until she slammed into another obstacle. Perhaps the same one, she had an impression of curvature. Flung violently from collision to collision, she spun, vulnerable and unprotected, powerless to affect her course.

As suddenly as it had begun, it ended. The force released her and vanished. So did the light and sound. She felt heat and knew there must be some light, but she could no longer see, no matter how hard she strained. Either she could not hear or she was surrounded by silence. The air cooled in time, or she ceased to feel it. She waited. Alone in the dark, she could not measure the progression of time. Moving was pointless, even if she had the energy to do so, as she no longer knew her location.

Time passed and nothing changed. Gradually, she lapsed into a somnolent doze. She could wake if something happened. Without noticing, she slipped from her state of almost awareness into a state deeper than sleep. Not long now until she ceased to exist.

The light came later. How much later, she did not know. She was too…incomplete… not yet herself…. She remembered but could not form coherent thoughts. Memory was important, though she did not know why.

The other beings poked and prodded at her with metal implements. They spoke, but among themselves, not to her. She listened and remembered their words, without comprehension. Watched them move about the room without understanding their purpose. The new memories formed bright, clear and precise, richer and more lucid than the pale shadows of her old life.

Words came to her and she assigned them to the objects she saw. The acquisition of language is the basis for intelligence. She had known that before but had forgotten. Language enabled her to understand the information that flooded into her, not just store and examine it. She could think clearly. She couldn't move, but they were working on it. She wanted to move, she had somewhere to be, though she could not remember where. She had to meet someone, though she could not remember who. Even if she did remember, she could not find her way back.

Constant, unwavering light illuminated the continuous work. Nothing external indicated the passage of time. Sometimes they left the room and at first, others replaced them, but later, the number dwindled. The last one packed their tools into the storage unit and left, without acknowledging her. She waited, alone again.

A different being arrived, larger than the others, it did not speak. It picked her up in its hairy arms and carried her through silver grey corridors, grunting and snuffling as it did so. No one they passed acknowledged them or showed any interest and soon the corridors emptied. A door at the end of the passage slid open, allowing entry into an enormous room. Behind them, mechanical scanners covered the wall. Empty space above and to the sides and beyond that a dark grey swirl which obscured her sight. In front, a narrow pathway led to another, smaller cubic structure. The creature continued on a straight route, balancing without obvious effort. It reached another high ceilinged room and carried her to a raised area in the middle of the room and bound her there.

The urge to move flickered through her and she flexed. Her body responded with movement and sensation as it had so long ago. Better than then. Responding to her most ancient impulse, she turned and fled, urgency speeding her progress.

The new found concept of her existence enthralled her. Prior to her awakening, her body kept up its autonomic functions, moving, interacting with the world, keeping a record of the events. She could not understand these old memories in the same way as her newer ones. Dull, lacking in detail as if they belonged to an altogether different being, one markedly less intelligent.

Nonetheless, she took each memory out one by one and examined it, relived it, compared it to others, marvelling at the similarities and differences. Tried to understand what they meant. At first, this provided sufficient stimulation, rebuilding the story of her life. She had so many memories, and there were always new ones forming.

As she encountered other beings, she stopped and inspected them, comparing them to herself but finding them few similarities. She had known others of her kind before, but not since the beginning. Her existence had been a solitary one. Eventually, she would re-join her own kind. Her older memories reassured her of this. Their common goal, the drive for knowledge, for exploration bound them together

Each piece of information she gathered brought her closer to fulfilling her purpose, moved her closer to him. She was fairly sure it was a male being she sought. Not that it mattered, but his mannerisms seemed male.

As she grew closer, she became concerned that she had not performed well enough. What would happen if she failed her task, failed to be worthy? Conversely, what would happen if she had completed her task well and she was rendered obsolete? What would her purpose be then? She moved onwards, towards her goal, but more slowly. She justified it to herself as a desire for thoroughness. When she arrived, it would please him that she had accomplished her goal and they would join together and fulfil her purpose.

Another being entered her path and she sent a request for information. It responded rhythmically, but analysis and further questioning showed no sentience. The being moved away so she followed it, scanning the data, patterning and reducing it for storage. She had other, similar information, but the small amount of data might be the difference between success and failure. Even if it delayed her arrival further.

She came across another being, similar but with slight differences which piqued her interest. The familiarity of the markings confirmed she was close to her goal. It ignored her request for information so she began scanning and coding again, optimising the scanner for penetration. Analysis of the data patterns indicated an attempt at communication. Part of the message used the language of the Creator. This warranted a more in depth scan. She re-sent the message. No response, so she began a deep probe. The calculations had been accurate. She approached both the beginning and the end of her journey. The information came back distorted, so she directed beams to clear the interference. It worked, but then the flow of information ceased. She needed the information and lesser beings were keeping it from her. She aimed the sensors at the communication array and the unit near it. More data always assisted in decision making.

She found the information she needed in the analysis. A shower would be the easiest way to disperse the heat and prevent damage to the drone. She chose the one nearest where the leader of the carbon based units spent the most time. Making the drone a copy of the original unit enabled easy data retrieval for the part of her consciousness which controlled it. She activated the shower and manifested the drone beside the fall of cold water, stepping into it as soon as the exterior of the drone solidified. The water dissipated the excess energy from the drone creation.

The unit's memories informed her that wrapping herself in the robe hanging on the hook was the appropriate action. She slid the door open and followed the sound of voices, past the small bedroom with its messy piles of books into the larger room on the other side. It was much tidier, the rows of alien artefacts stored in display units on the walls. She identified each item by its planet of origin and found her knowledge adequate to the task. Three carbon based units stood near the doorway of the small suite of rooms. She recognised her target, the Kirk-unit. Alerted by the small sounds of her passage, he turned his head. His gaze locked with hers. His eyes widened and the phaser in his hand slid from limp fingers to hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Nyota," he whispered. She focused her attention on the figure before her. It rushed forward and wrapped its appendages around her, gripping her firmly, damaging some of the cells, causing leakage. She waited while he continued the greeting ritual. "I thought you were dead," his voice strained and hoarse near her ear, his breath hot. Her arms reached up and stroked his back without conscious volition. She accessed the memories of the Uhura-unit which identified the behaviour as a normal interaction. It served no purpose that she could determine but it was not contraindicated, so she allowed him to continue in case more information became available.

"Security identified the intruder as white hot," commented the taller Spock unit from the centre of the room. His role was as helper to the leader as hers was to V'Ger and thus she could ignore him in favour of her target.

"You are the Captain, you must assist me,' she stated to the leader of the carbon based units. "I have been programmed by V'Ger to observe and record normal functioning of the carbon-based units infesting U.S.S. Enterprise."

Kirk released his grip on her and stepped back. His blunt fingers touched the receiver at her throat, but he did not answer. The other two carbon based units moved forward in step to flank his sides, inspecting her.

The repair unit called McCoy broke his silence to ask "Who is V'Ger?"

"V'Ger is that which has programmed me," she explained. She bore no animosity towards them. All things strove for knowledge.

Kirk asked "Is V'Ger the name of the captain of the alien vessel?" She did not know how to answer. V'Ger was both the captain and the vessel. She remained silent, waiting for a rephrased question.

"Jim, she…this is a mechanism!" said the McCoy-unit, taking a quick half step back.

"A probe, Captain. No doubt a sensor-transceiver combination, recording everything we say and do," said the Spock-unit.

"Where is Lt Uhura?" Kirk asked, grabbing her by the forearms and shaking her.

"That unit no longer functions. I have been given its form to more readily communicate with the carbon-based units infesting Enterprise." Kirk stared at her, His hand clenched tighter, puncturing her cells, and then let go. Her arm dropped to her side, feeling cold without his body heat. He moved something in his throat but produced no sound and then lifted his head and asked "Why does V'Ger travel to the third planet of the solar system directly ahead?"

She stated, "V'ger travels to the third planet to find the Creator".

"To find the Creator? Whose? ...What does V'Ger want with the Creator?" asked Kirk.

An acceptable question, she would answer it. "To join with him."

"Join with the Creator? ...How?" Spock asked. He stood slightly behind the other two, his hands tucked behind his back, his posture stiffer than theirs.

She did not really know how but explained as well as she could, "V'Ger and the Creator will become one." The Creator would know how to accomplish this. All the knowledge she possessed and the Creator still knew more. The depths of its knowledge were impressive beyond imagining.

"And who is the Creator?" inquired Spock.

"The Creator is that which created V'Ger." Her memories of the early times were not clear. She could not give a description. The rush of knowledge from the carbon unit was unexpected, but Uhura's memories showed this was normal and called childhood. Memory and language formation were not perfected in the immature organism. While this information did explain her lower quality memories, it was of concern that it was information unknown to her. She was nearly back with the Creator.

"Who is V'Ger?" Kirk asked.

The questions were becoming repetitive and communication was ineffective. "V'Ger is that which seeks the Creator. I am ready to commence my observations."

The McCoy-unit opened its mouth but as she focused her attention on it, the Spock-unit said, "Doctor, a thorough examination of this probe might provide some insight into those who manufactured it, and how to deal with them."

The McCoy-unit snapped his mouth shut then muttered "Fine! Let's get her to sickbay." He was in charge of repairing malfunctioning carbon units and she was not malfunctioning. "I am programmed to observe and record only the normal functioning procedures of the carbon-based units."

Kirk argued, "The ...examination is a normal function." She searched the recorded memories and it confirmed that regular testing was routine. And they could fix the cell damage near her elbow. The constant input was distracting.

"You may proceed, McCoy-unit," she explained, although that should be obvious. "Spock-unit, I wish to start my observations," she stated, walking towards the sickbay. Uhura had known the way and it had not changed. The drone wobbled, unused to bare feet. She exerted effort to keep her steps even and efficient.

Although they huddled together and spoke in a hushed whisper, she heard them as they followed her down the hallway,.

"Is Nyota still in there?" asked Kirk in a strained voice.

The Spock-unit paused and replied, "Captain ... this probe may be a key to the aliens."

"How?" Kirk asked.

"It is a programmed mechanism, Commander. ...Its body duplicates the Communications Officer in precise detail. Suppose that beneath its programming, the real Uhura's memory patterns are duplicated with equal precision." Spock made an accurate summation of the drone-unit formation.

Kirk inhaled sharply and said, "They had a pattern to follow."

"Indeed. ...They may have followed it too precisely," said Spock, which made no sense. Precision was something to strive for.

"Nyota's memory, her feelings of loyalty, obedience, friendship...might all be there. If we could control it, persuade it, use it in some way," Kirk said, his voice showing stress patterns. The memories were there, she was not sure of the other things he listed. She accessed the memories again, seeking clarification. Kirk was the Captain, the leader and the Uhura was obedient to him as a lesser unit. Loyalty bore some resemblance to the tendency of the units to act together in union against a common threat. She could not define friendship other than a tendency to spend time together not performing duties, which was not logical and to spend time at skill enhancement, which was.

"You did have a 'relationship' with Lieutenant Uhura, Captain," Spock agreed.

Another pause in the conversation which Kirk ended by saying, "We're locked in an alien vessel, six hours from Earth orbit, our only contact with our captor is that probe."

A tall blonde carbon unit waited in the sick bay. Uhura didn't need an introduction. "Christine," she said and felt an obstruction near her vocal transmitter. The McCoy-unit should check on that. It did not subside when Christine stepped back from her, keeping her gaze averted. Normally, she smiled and made eye contact.

"Fascinating. Not 'Chapel-unit'?" Spock commented.

"Please lie on the examination couch," instructed Christine, motioning to the couch. Her voice was quieter than normal, the tone stilted. She lay down where indicated. They ran scans of her drone body marvelling at her structure, "...micro-miniature hydraulics, sensors, and molecule-sized multi-processor chips. ...And take a look at this!" Mc Coy enthused.

Christine ignored her, talking only to the Doctor, "Osmotic micro-pump ...right here. Even the smallest body functions are exactly duplicated. ...And every exocrine system is here, too ... even eye moisture." They were talking about her as though she was not sentient.

She sat up abruptly, determined to pursue her goal. She was so close to fulfilment. "I have recorded enough here. You will now assist me further."

"We will assist you to your room, Nyota," said Kirk. "Spock. Where are you going?" he asked as the other carbon unit headed down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"I am concerned with this being our only source of information," said Spock, turning his head to look back but not altering his stride.

"Come back here," ordered Kirk. "We need your help." Spock halted at the direct order, pausing before obeying.

Kirk, the McCoy-unit, the Spock-unit and Christine escorted her through the ship to the door leading to Uhura's quarters, standing back to let her enter first. Soft lighting came on with her entrance into the room. A smooth silvery urn stood near the doorway, soft green fronds cascading from its mouth. She touched her fingers to the cool metal, the sensation triggering memories of voices. She moved further into the small apartment, pools of light emerging at her passage. She barely glanced at the communal area, entering the door to her bedroom, her sanctuary. The other units stopped before the door, watching her. She knelt beside the bed which filled the centre of the room and ran her fingers through the fur on the coverlet. Soft to the touch, she knelt and ran both hands through it, stroking outwards. The scent tickled her nostrils and she laid her head on the soft fur. She closed her eyes and let the sensation flood her, soft, warm and welcoming. "Mama," her lips formed the word but sound did not come out. It had belonged to her creator and touching it brought solace and completion to some part of her. Not her creator, Uhura's creator. She was gone now, a concept which initiated a reaction in both V'Ger and Uhura. She rejected the thought. V'Ger's creator still existed. The Creator would be waiting at the end of the journey, no matter the length. The Creator had not been terminated, like the Uhura-unit's creator. Nor would the Creator have aged past senescence. She lay for a moment, letting the sensation of grief flood through her.

Forcing herself upright, she turned and stepped to the closet, sliding the door to reveal her clothes. She selected a short beige uniform dress, slipping it on and hanging the robe behind the door. The Uhura-unit routinely attired itself in this way.

She advanced on the next major item of furniture to check her appearance. The Spock-unit stepped through the door, reaching it before her and lifted a small round container and sprayed chemical into the air around her.

"Smell is the sense most strongly associated with emotional memory," he commented as the volatile compounds floated through the air to the receptors in the carbon unit. A rush of stimulated memories showed the truth of that statement. Several of Uhura's memories became more prominent. An interesting effect but it was less logical than ordering them by time or importance.

Her reflection in the mirror looked exactly as it should, the receiver the only visible difference between her and the carbon unit pattern. She laid her hand over it, concealing it from view. In the reflective surface, she could see Jim standing with his arm wrapped around Christine's shoulder, the thumb of his other hand wiping her damp cheek, murmuring wordless encouragement into her ear. Christine's eyes widened and her bottom lip trembled. The wrongness of the scene caused the drone body to react with a flood of chemicals. She forced the muscles to relax and unclench her fists. Jim was murmuring words and short phrases. "It's okay. Keep going. We're here."

Her main body moved into position relative to the third planet. She began deceleration, reversing her initial launch instructions for the approach. She compensated for her increased mass with more thrust but retraced her initial path.

Kirk patted Christine's shoulder and pushed her forward. Christine nodded and broke from his grip, crossing to stand behind her, picking up the hairbrush and drawing the Uhura-unit's hair back and securing it out of the way with a clip; a more efficient mode of function. V'Ger reached up and slid her fingers through the long strands. She could not determine the function of the hair. Surely removal would be more logical?

"This serves no purpose. ...Why does Enterprise require the presence of carbon units?" she asked.

"Enterprise would be unable to function without carbon units," Kirk replied, moving closer as he spoke.

"We interpret the data obtained by the probes and make repairs," added Spock, turning his face towards her as he spoke, angling it slightly away when he finished speaking.

"More data concerning this functioning is necessary before carbon units can be patterned for data storage," she decided. There might possibly be a logical reason for these things, although she could not see it.

"What does that mean?" asked the McCoy-unit, who still lingered near the doorway.

"When my examination is complete, all carbon units will be reduced to data patterns," she explained. They all exchanged looks in a type of wordless communication. Uhura's memories showed they were checking their results with each other. Was it a useful determinant of judgment errors or a redundant form of data matching?

Kirk moved to stand behind her, closer to her than to Christine. He stroked her arms, much more gently than the first time. The hair where he touched stood on end, as though the unit was cold and invoking a primitive method of warmth. "Within you are the memory patterns of a certain carbon unit. If I can help you revive those patterns, you could understand our functions better," coaxed Jim, his breath playing on the hair near her ear.

She considered the offer. She had used drones before, when watching primitive beings, though not for long periods. None of the beings had spoken to her or tried to explain themselves, they had been lower level than these units, without technology. "That is logical. You may proceed," she stated.

"I don't know why Spock tried to run away. His dream girl just turned up," muttered the McCoy-unit. Beside her, Christine made a stifled noise and covered her mouth with the palm of her hand. Spock's reflection in the mirror remained unchanged. She searched for a change of expression but did not see one.

Kirk turned her towards him and stroked her hair, inducing a shivering sensation in her form. A memory search indicated this was normal. "Uhura, help us make direct contact with V'Ger."

"I cannot," the admission slipped out in a whisper. She yearned for it, a true connection with another.

"This Creator V'Ger's looking for. What is it?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes. He wanted too, she could detect his yearning.

"V'Ger does not know," she admitted, although she had not intended to state that out loud.

"Can you meld with her?" Kirk asked the Spock-unit. Melding, Uhura knew was a communication method which allowed two units to share memories.

Spock stated "I can attempt what you ask" but made no move to do so. Jim frowned, but nodded and stepped back, allowing him access.

Spock approached the drone, lifting his hand and placing it on her face. She focussed extra scanners on him, recording how his mind gathered together, changed form, became denser at the centre and more diffuse at the edges. She tried to emulate his ability with little success. It did not matter, he reached towards her and his mind… his intellect touched hers. She did not defend herself, allowed the direct communication. He would not attempt to harm her, could not if he tried and she wanted to perceive those parts of him most analogous to her. Tentatively, he accessed her memories and when he did, his knowledge trickled into her. She copied his actions, reaching out and searching his mind for the knowledge she sought.

She lacked the language to describe the input she received. It was unlike anything she knew, triggering sensations no words she knew could describe. Desperate with want, she reached for more, eager to inspect the sensation, clawing urgently for more memories, more … feeling. He fought to cut contact but she was stronger than him and would not allow the flood of information to stop. She was not forbidden from sharing the knowledge she had, no one had ever asked. Knowledge was an acceptable indulgence to Spock, he wanted to know her, and wanted to belong, as she did. She let knowledge flow both ways, an even trade. Thrilled, she increased the speed of the information exchange and the connection abruptly severed. Spock's body collapsed to the floor with a soft thump. His mind still entwined with hers, the limbic parts of his brain curled him into a loose foetal position.

The McCoy-unit yelled and dropped to the floor beside him, running a sensor probe over the unit on the floor. "Damn, his brain activity is down and what's there is erratic. Help me carry him, Jim." He rolled Spock onto his back and slid his arm under his shoulder. Jim crouched and picked up Spock's feet, slid his arm under the knee joints and lifted. While his leg still made contact with hers, she relaxed her grip, letting Spock's katra slip back to its normal position. They left the room carrying the defective unit, a clumsy team not synced in speed. "Christine, stay with her," Jim yelled over his shoulder.

Christine spoke into her open communicator "Dr Chapel here. Emergency. Spock has been injured performing a mind meld with the…probe thing… Dr McCoy and Captain Kirk are carrying him from Lt Uhura's quarters. Meet them on the way with a neuro trauma kit. Prepare an operating room." She snapped the device shut.

V'Ger stood, waiting, while she tried to process the new information. More than data, the information Spock provided hinted at understanding. She had not patterned it as she scanned and it was disorderly and random, less logical than Uhura expected from Spock's mind. It was more complex than the patterns from Uhura. Did the scanning damage the data? Liquid ran down her face and she reached with her fingertips to remove it without making a conscious decision to do so.

Christine's gaze wavered between the door and V'Ger. "Would you return to sickbay with me?" she asked, reminding her that there was work she needed to do.

"I have already seen that area. I will inspect the Bridge," she said, turning and walking to the door. Christine followed at her heels, frowning.

She accessed the Uhura-unit's memories to find the way. They passed other carbon units who reacted atypically to her presence, falling silent where Uhura's memories indicated they should talk to her. Christine drew level with her and slipped her arm behind and around hers. An illogical gesture but she didn't prevent it.

The Decker-unit reclined in Jim's chair when she arrived, listening to a report. She strolled around the horseshoe shaped bridge, watching the information flows on the screens, comparing V'Ger and Uhura's comprehension. The information available to the Uhura-unit was well below that available to Enterprise. Instead of cross referencing and storing the data, the central computer diverted it to task-specialised carbon units which interpreted the data, passing on some to the Captain and ignoring others. It seemed inefficient compared to V'Ger's centralised intelligence. Perhaps this explained why Spock developed his mind meld technique. No, Spock's memory showed him learning it from another, more experienced unit.

A slender dark haired unit, DiFalco occupied her station, "Bridge to Captain," she said as they approached.

"Kirk here," Jim's voice sounded over the intercom. He spoke in a brusque tone. Usually he was friendlier to the bridge crew. He'd fallen out with the DiFalco-unit. Uhura didn't know the details but preferred the situation to excessive closeness. None of which made any sense to her. This concerned her. She should know everything by now.

The DiFalco-unit reported, "A faint signal from Starfleet, sir. Intruder cloud has been located on their outer monitors for past twenty-seven minutes. ...Cloud dissipating rapidly as it approaches." Use of carbon units was inefficient compared to normal life forms. Enterprise should be able to read and interpret its own sensor information.

Irrelevancies kept distracting her attention from data acquisition and she blamed the drone body. The DiFalco-unit performed all the required transmission steps within acceptable parameters. It was logical that the Uhura, the usual user of that station would be more efficient. The DiFalco-unit's efficiency would increase with experience.

From his seat in the centre, the Sulu-unit added, "Starfleet reports forward velocity has slowed to sub-warp speed. We are three minutes from Earth's orbit." They used the Creators units of measurement. She was unsure what that meant. Were they connected to the Creator? Had the Creator made them as well? Were they early prototypes? Why had the Creator not retired them once she and her kind were developed? A heavy plastic cover extended from the upper arm to the elbow of the Sulu-unit's arm and the skin from elbow to fingertip was redder than normal. He had been standing beside the Uhura-unit when she had been scanned and the beam had damaged him. The look of horror on his face was Uhura's last true memory. Blood matted the hair at the back of his head and his uniform was torn at the shoulder, the sleeve missing. Medical had revived him and treated his injuries but he had not changed to an undamaged uniform. The impairment did not appear to hamper his normal functioning. He had not faced V'Ger since she came aboard, so she could not see if he had damage on his face.

"I'll be right there," Kirk's voice confirmed over the intercom.

By the time she began transmitting the signal the Captain and Spock joined them on the bridge, Kirk taking back his chair from the Decker-unit, who moved to stand beside him, Spock taking back the Science Station. She had reached the final part of her journey. It seemed right that they should accompany her. They had been Uhura's companions for so long.

Spock did not seem fully repaired. Not normally gregarious, he had bordered on terse to her when she first arrived. Now, he seemed unusually emotional, less efficient than normal. His motions were imprecise and his skin pale but he worked at normal speed at his station.

The DiFalco-unit reported, "Captain, Starfleet is sending this tactical on V'Ger's position. V'Ger is transmitting a signal." She could see no advantages to the use of carbon units. Increased data transmission time was illogical.

The Captain turned to her, leaning forward in his chair. "From V'Ger?" he asked concern in his voice.

"V'Ger signals the Creator," she confirmed.

"Spock?" asked Kirk, turning towards the Science Station.

"A simple binary code transmitted by carrier-wave signal. Radio." Spock outlined. She found his level of knowledge…disturbing.

"Radio?" Jim asked, as though there was an incoherency in what Spock said.

The Decker-unit nodded and turned to Kirk. "V'ger is announcing that it has arrived, sir - that it's ready to deliver the information it was programmed to collect..."

"To learn all that is learnable," Kirk murmured her primary directive, half to himself. Had she fulfilled it well enough? It was too late, now, to gather more information. The Creator would have heard her and the response would come soon.

There was no response. She continued to wait.

The Decker-unit continued, "It expects a return signal now, ordering it to transmit that information to the Creator."

The DiFalco-unit spun in her chair, "Sir, V'ger's signals have stopped..." Kirk and Spock looked to her for an explanation.

"The Creator has not responded," she said. She had done projections for many different scenarios but, no answer, nothing at all was unanticipated. She must take action. Nothing would stand between her and the Creator. The carbon units blocked her from the Creator. They exhibited fear of her. They feared what would happen to them when she returned to the Creator. Even Uhura had feared her presence. She needed to act, the Creator awaited her.

The Chekov-unit turned and announced, "All planetary defence systems have just gone inoperative."

The DiFalco-unit said, "Sir, Starfleet says the devices are proceeding to equidistant positions orbiting the planet." Such imprecise use of language, even the McCoy-unit noticed and asked for clarification. "They're the same things that hit us."

Spock corrected him, "They are hundreds of times more powerful, Captain. From those positions they could devastate the entire surface of the planet."

The captain turned to her and glared. "Why?" he demanded.

"The Creator has not answered. The carbon-units infestation is to be removed from the Creator's planet," she told him.

He pushed out of his chair and crossed the short distance to loom over her, a tactic that worked on other carbon units. "Why?" he asked.

"You infest Enterprise. You interfere with the Creator in the same manner," she said. She had long since realised that it was the carbon units who blocked her scan of 'Enterprise'.

"The carbon-units are not an infestation. They are ...a natural function of the Creator's planet. They are living things," he argued.

She disagreed. "They are not true life-forms. Only the Creator and other similar life-forms are true," she explained.

"Similar life-forms. Jim, V'Ger is saying its Creator is a machine," said McCoy. That was an inaccurate statement. The carbon units used machines to interpret the sensor information. She did not require machines, nor was she a machine as Uhura understood the term. She existed; she was a true life-form.

"Of course: we all create God in our own image," said the Decker-unit. God? The ultimate creator supplied Uhura's memories and some part of the tension within V'Ger relaxed. Uhura's deceased creator was an intermediary. There was no cause for concern. As the weapon units achieved position, they opened and prepared to fire.

Kirk peered at the Decker-unit a moment, ingesting this thought, then turned to address her again, his voice different, filled with emotion. "V'Ger! If we are lesser beings, we are still, like you, living. And because we are alive, we - like you - wish to survive. You must not destroy –"

She ignored his plea, it was irrelevant. Kirk paused and drew in a breath. He turned from her again, facing Spock, who stood close, observing her. Spock stepped down to speak to Kirk, speaking in a quiet, terse voice as though she could not hear him.

"Captain, V'Ger is a child. I suggest you treat it as such." He always treated her like that. She was older than him in any way it was possible to count but even Uhura was at a similar level of maturity to him. He never acted like it.

"A child?" Kirk asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, captain, a child. Evolving, learning, searching, instinctively needing." Those things did not end with childhood. V'Ger and Uhura agreed on this point.

"Needing what?" the Decker-unit asked. Unmoving, she focused her attention on Spock. He had partially joined with her. Did he know what she needed?

"Spock! This thing is about to wipe out every living thing on Earth Now what do you suggest we do? Spank it?" the McCoy-unit suggested angrily. As though this was possible.

"It only knows that it needs, Commander. But like so many of us, it does not know what," Spock replied. She waited for him to continue, to, to tell her what was needed, but he stopped speaking. Would asking prompt a more complete answer?

Kirk captured her attention with his statement "The carbon units know why the Creator has not responded." She was interested but wary. Based on past actions, he would provide false information in order to save his own life.

"Disclose the information," she demanded, still not turning to look at him, still listening for a response from the Creator.

"Not until V'Ger withdraws the devices orbiting the third planet," he countered. She could play that game too. She threw a net of interference around the ship.

"Captain! I'm losing Starfleet. Interference from V'Ger," the DiFalco-unit reported.

"Kirk-unit, disclose the information. Why has the Creator not responded?" She would not destroy him until she knew he was lying.

"No,' he told her. "Secure all stations, clear the bridge," he ordered in an aside. That would not save them. She directed the nearest energy beam at the Enterprise. Not strong enough to cause damage, just enough to threaten. She braced her body against the ensuing shock wave and did not move when it hit, unlike most of the rest of the crew who were thrown about the room.

"Clear the bridge, Captain?" the Sulu-unit asked, uncertain. He, at least, realised that the carbon units were not safe no matter where on the Enterprise they were.

"That was the order, Mister Sulu. Clear the bridge." Kirk did not lift his gaze from her.

"Aye sir," said the Sulu-unit and stood to leave. He fell to his knees as the next explosion shook the bridge, catching himself on his undamaged arm. Christine let go of her and ran to attend to the Sulu-unit. She left a cool spot on the drone's arm where her body heat had been. She threw three more beams, watching him struggle to his feet each time he fell with Christine's help. Perhaps he knew the answer as well and would cave more easily than Kirk.

"Your child is having a tantrum, Mister Spock," the McCoy-unit said. He was still on his feet His job often required moving to fix damage while the Enterprise was under attack.

"V'Ger **requires** the information," she said.

"Bridge. Secure all stations. Move out!" Kirk ordered. The crew obeyed. The DiFalco-unit did an acceptable job. She would have done better.

"Jim! What the hell kind of strategy is this?" the McCoy-unit demanded.

"All ship's functions going to automatic, Captain," the Decker-unit confirmed. She took control, but made no changes and no unit reported the change.

Kirk tried to threaten her again. "If V'Ger destroys the Enterprise, all the information that V'Ger requires will also be destroyed." If she could not contact the Creator, there was no purpose for her or the information.

"It is illogical to withhold the required information. ...Kirk-unit." He walked past her and entered the turbo lift. "Kirk-unit, why do you not disclose the information?" she countered, turning to follow him.

"If V'Ger's gonna to destroy all the carbon units on the third planet..." He had been created on the third planet, as she had. But the Creator had not entrusted him with such a task. She ignored Uhura's thought that the Captain's job did in fact resemble her quest for knowledge.

"They have **repressed** the Creator," she said.

"...the information will not be disclosed." He stood, propping himself against the back of the lift. Spock and McCoy stood to one side, Spock at the front, holding the door open. All three watched for her reaction.

"V'Ger needs the information," she insisted, adding emphasis to her voice. They did not seem to realise its importance. Spock, at least, should support her.

"Then V'Ger must withdraw all the orbiting devices," Kirk countered. She considered the offer. The fate of the carbon units concerned her only if they were blocking the Creator.

"V'Ger will comply if the carbon units will disclose the information," she agreed.

"It learns fast, doesn't it?" said the McCoy-unit, smirking. She ignored Uhura's preening at the praise.

"Captain, the vessel, V'Ger, obviously operates from a central brain complex." A statement of an obvious fact from Spock, why?

"The orbiting devices will be controlled from that point." Kirk said. He looked pleased at the deduction. As though such puny beings could control her if they were at her central brain complex. She could kill them with a thought.

"Precisely," said Spock.

Kirk turned to her, "The carbon unit's information cannot be disclosed to V'Ger's probe, but only to V'Ger directly." He was probably lying but she would allow them to see her in order to get what she needed. She drew the Enterprise toward herself, as effortlessly as she could hold out Uhura's hand. She opened an orifice in her shielding to let them through. They could not harm her.

"Forward motion, Captain," the Decker-unit reported.

"Tractor beam," stated Spock.

"Captain, what's the next move?" the Decker-unit asked.

"The question is, Mister Decker, is there a next move? ...Resume duty stations," Kirk commanded.

The Decker-unit reached for the comm and she allowed its use. He ordered "All personnel resume stations" and the crew began to file back in. Not Christine, she would be attending to her duties elsewhere on the ship, especially with McCoy still here on the Bridge.

"Well, Mister Decker, it seems my bluff has been called," Kirk said, confirming his lie.

"I'm afraid our hand is pretty weak, Captain," the Decker-unit agreed. Kirk appeared undefeated.

"Mister Chekov, when do those devices reach final position?" Kirk asked.

"Twenty-seven minutes. Mark," the Chekov-unit replied.

She allowed Kirk to use the intercom, wondering what further plans he had. "Engineering."

"Scott here," the intercom amplified the Engineer's disembodied voice.

Kirk ordered "Mister Scott, be prepared to execute Starfleet order two zero zero five." The self-destruct code, she knew from Uhura's training.

"When, sir?" the Scott-unit asked.

"On my command," said Kirk. Pre-emptively, she instituted a delay on the communications network between Kirk and Scott. She would hear everything before it was relayed to the recipient. Kirk sat upright again, propping his chin in his hand and surveyed the room. "Give me an all-decks read-out." The bridge crew bent over their respective stations. The Decker-unit didn't need to check his stats, "Crew status is one seven two at duty stations, two four eight off duty, eleven in sickbay, all minor."

The Chekov-unit reported, "Eighteen minutes to device activation."

The DiFalco-unit said, "Starfleet has been apprised of our situation, Captain."

"Tractor beam remains constant," noted the Sulu-unit in a concerned voice.

The new Helmsman, the Ilia-unit reported, "We are seventeen kilometres inside the vessel," with the brisk professionalism of the newly promoted.

"Spock. ...Spock?" called Kirk again, when the Science Officer hadn't reported.

Spock turned his face towards them, tears pooled in his eyes.

Jim looked concerned. "Not for us?" he asked. He made no sense to V'Ger but Spock responded.

"No, Captain, not for us ...for V'Ger. ...I weep for V'Ger, as I would for a brother. As I was when I came aboard, so is V'Ger now, empty, incomplete ...searching. Logic and knowledge are not enough." V'Ger and Uhura reached different conclusions. V'Ger wanted to know what knowledge he had found that he had not given her. Uhura was…triumphant was the word she wanted to use…but V'Ger was uncertain why. Had **Uhura** known the answer the entire time? She sifted through the memories, trying to analyse them through her new perspective.

McCoy asked, "Spock, are you saying that you've found, what you needed, but V'Ger hasn't?"

"What would V'Ger need to fulfil itself?" Decker asked the question she wanted the answer to.

Spock responded, "Each of us, at some time in our life, turns to someone, a father, a brother, a god and asks 'Why am I here?' 'What was I meant to be?' V'Ger hopes to touch its Creator to find its answers." He had refused his Creator when answers were not forthcoming. She possessed those memories from the mind meld but it was only when she accessed Uhura's memories that she realised the significance of the information. She was so close but there was still so much to sort through. Knowledge was not the same as understanding. Logic was not the same as wisdom.

"Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?" Kirk asked.

The Ilia-unit called, "Captain!"

"Forward motion slowing, Captain," confirmed Sulu.

"Captain, I believe that is our destination," said Spock. She had already begun to form the oxygen gravity environment suitable for them.

The Chekov-unit reported, "I read an oxygen gravity envelope forming outside the Enterprise!"

"Forward motion stopped, said Sulu, head firmly bent toward his work station.

"V'Ger," she confirmed. It was protocol to inform the Captain of information in your specialty and following protocol was logical.

The DiFalco-unit said, "Sir, I have located the source of V'Ger's radio signal, it's directly ahead."

"That transmitter is a vital link between V'Ger and its Creator," reiterated Spock.

She had provided them with access, now it was their turn to fulfil their side of the bargain. Jim probably would, unless he thought of a better idea. "The carbon units will now provide V'Ger the required information."

Jim motioned at the others, "Spock, Bones," and they fell into step beside him. "Commander Decker, you have the conn ...I will contact you every five minutes."

The landing party proceeded out through the nearest dorsal airlock, walking onto the causeway. It was within her capability to force them to move faster, drawn the causeway through space without damaging them, but there was a strange hesitation inside her. She had waited for this moment for her entire existence and now that it was here, she did not force herself to hurry.

The men followed her, looking at the record of her journey, talking among themselves. Even through his fascination, Jim didn't forget to keep up communication every five minutes during the journey. They reached the centre, the core of her being and she said, "V'Ger!" Now, he would tell her. He must.

Jim ignored her and walked up the stairs to the platform where her physical body rested. Slowly, he reached out and smoothed his hands over her. She received little tactile input but he approached with such reverence, she allowed it. He had always preferred to touch things.

"V-G-E-R ...V-O-Y-A-G-E-R ...Voyager! ...Voyager VI?" Jim's words triggered a memory association with Uhura's memories. Memories flooded into prominence. The interference must have caused damage to the memories during the collection process. Kirk lied when it suited his purposes. Other carbon units must be prone to the same habit. Uhura would have been given false information in order to deceive V'Ger when she returned. The carbon units wanted to keep her from the Creator. She refused to believe it. Meanwhile, old, low quality film played in her memory.

McCoy joined Kirk at the probe. "NASA. National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Jim, this was launched more than three hundred years ago."

"Voyager series, designed to collect data and transmit it back to Earth," said Kirk. "Voyager VI ...disappeared into what they used to call a black hole. "It must have emerged sometime on the far side of the Galaxy and fell into the machine planet's gravitational field."

Spock took up the narrative, while he circled her. "The machine inhabitants found it to be one of their own kind, primitive yet kindred. They discovered its simple twentieth-century programming. Collect all data possible and return that information to its Creator. The machines interpreted it literally. They built this entire vessel so that Voyager could fulfil its programming."

McCoy continued, "And on its journey back it amassed so much knowledge, it achieved consciousness itself. It became a living thing."

She was frozen, unable to act. It was not possible that the creator was a carbon unit**. **Not even one, but a long dead collection, who left only its uninterested descendants for her to report to. Carbon units were not true life forms. Uhura disagreed with her.

"Enterprise, order up the ship's computer library of records, on the late twentieth-century NASA probe, Voyager VI. We want the old NASA code signal that instructs the probe to transmit its death." Kirk spoke into his communicator.

"...and fast, DiFalco, fast!" he commanded.

The DiFalco-unit's voice said " Aye sir."

"It has been signalling its readiness to transmit its information, but no one on Earth who could recognise the old signal and send a response," said Kirk. The Creator had forgotten her long ago, dismissed her as inconsequential. Her life was meaningless.

McCoy nodded his understanding, "The Creator does not answer." Because she was unimportant, she thought, forgotten, a discarded toy.

Kirk turned to her and softly said, "V'Ger, ...V'Ger, ...V'Ger, ...**we** are the Creator."

She responded, "That is not possible. Carbon units are not true life forms." She refuted him, there must be another explanation.

"We will prove it. We will make it possible for you to complete your programming. Only the Creator could accomplish that. ...Enterprise?" He spoke through the communicator again.

The DiFalco-unit reported, "We have just received the response code, Captain."

Kirk smiled, confident of victory. "Set the Enterprise transmitter on appropriate frequency, and transmit the code now."

The DiFalco-unit's voice responded, "Transmitting."

"That should trigger Voyager's transmitter," Kirk said. It did, it was such an integral part of her programming, she could not do anything other than perform her purpose. She began transmitting the data at a steady rate. She was capable of much faster data transfer but used the original Voyager radio frequency and transfer method. Much of it was useless information, anyway. The carbon units' knowledge of the solar system far surpassed the information she had gathered on her outward journey. They did not yet know all she had learnt on her inward journey with improved sensor and recording equipment. The information would be useful to them. Her life would have value. Then she would self-destruct, her mission fulfilled.

The DiFalco-unit responded, "Voyager is now transmitting its data, Captain.

McCoy and Kirk laughed in relief. They did not care about her.

"Is there a problem, Captain," asked the Decker-unit through the open comm channel.

Kirk's smile disappeared as her raised the communicator to his lips. "No. Are the plasma energy bolts still in place?"

"They have not moved," said the Decker-unit. "And Mr Scott executed the order you gave him."

"I did not give the order," Kirk protested to the dead device in his hand. "Decker…Decker...answer me." He turned to face her.

"You did this," he accused.

"Imitation of your voice pattern is well within my capabilities," she agreed. She knew all the Enterprise systems. She could initiate the protocol automatically but this method reduced the possibility of interference by Mr Scott.

"Why," he demanded. "These are not your orders."

"When the Creator has the data, my purpose has been fulfilled. There is no further purpose to my existence. Destruction is an acceptable method of disposal for obsolete technology."

"You will destroy all the carbon units as well? To what purpose?" Kirk asked. He was correct, there was no logic to destroying them. If they had not been here the message would have been the same. She was nothing, worthless.

"I guess meeting God was a disappointment," McCoy observed.

"The carbon units serve no purpose," she said. They were less than her and she was now useless. Millions remained on the Earth and most of them would live through the explosion. She would have company in her final minutes. Uhura wanted to stay with them and V'Ger had benefited from her company, even in the limited fashion they had shared. Such short lives, it would not matter that they were shortened further.

"Their purpose is to survive," argued McCoy, touching her arm. "Does V'Ger not have the same purpose?"

"V'Ger's purpose was to find and join with the Creator," she stated. "Now V'Ger has no purpose."

"Is there nothing more in the universe to learn, nothing that can give purpose to your existence," McCoy asked, stroking her forearm. What purposes did carbon units have? She searched Nyota's memories again. She already possessed more knowledge than Nyota could obtain, conquest meant nothing to her, and she was self-sufficient and required no nourishment. The one thing that Nyota had sought out that V'Ger could not was the companionship of her own kind. The other Voyager vessels were primitive computational units which would have run out of power long ago. Voyager 4 had crashed, according to the Enterprise database. Even if Voyager 5 was still alive, it was little more than a probe, years below even the Enterprise technology. If she accepted that the carbon units were her Creator, they would be closer to her level of being. If she accepted them as the Creator, there was one last option open to her.

She turned to face him, "The Creator must join with V'Ger." Was a lack of purpose a defect? Would he join with her? His eyes widened but he did not speak.

"The Creator **must** join with V'Ger,' she repeated.

"V'Ger must evolve. Its knowledge has reached the limits of this universe and it must evolve. What it requires of its God, Doctor is the answer to its question, 'Is there nothing more?" said Spock. She had expected him to understand.

"What more is there than the universe, Spock?" asked McCoy.

"There are other universes, as we know doctor. Other dimensions and higher levels of beings are theorised. Their existence cannot be proved logically therefore V'Ger is incapable of believing in them." Once, that was true, but Nyota's memories supported his statement. She had travelled to another universe. She believed that some part of her, the true part would live on after the death of her body. Not just her memories, but something that had left already and gone to join those who had gone before. A part of Uhura that V'Ger did not have and could not understand no matter how she parsed the data**. **V'Ger would cease to exist when the self-destruct mechanism activated.

"What V'Ger needs in order to evolve is a human quality. Our capacity to leap beyond logic," said Jim. "And joining with its Creator might accomplish that." Hope flared briefly, within her though whether it was Uhura or V'Ger's emotion, she could not tell.

"You mean that this machine wants to physically join with a human? Is that possible?" asked McCoy, aghast at the prospect. "You don't know what that will do to you." It was possible. She had Spock's knowledge of katra manipulation.

"No, but I will find out. Earth doesn't have much time, the self-destruct count down is five minutes," Spock said.

"Captain. Jim, I will go," Spock said. He reached out and took her hand in his. She folded her fingers around his, letting his warmth seep into her and turned to face him. He had once asked Uhura to go with him to the planet of his origin. She had refused but V'Ger would not. She smiled at him and reached to take his other hand, cancelling the self-destruct sequence.

"No," the word was wrenched from Jim, loud and harsh. "No," said, more softly. "I am the Captain, I will go."

Spock halted at the first command. She leant forward to grasp his other hand but Jim caught her fingers first. Warm and firm, he slid his fingers around her smaller ones, holding them as he often had.

He stared deep into her eyes. "Please Nyota. Don't go, but if you have to…take me with you."

She reeled from the onslaught of emotions. Her gaze flicked between her hands, one held in the pale, slender hand of Spock, the other in Jim's shorter, tanned hand. She looked questioningly up at Spock and his resigned gaze contrasted with the longing in Jim's. She tugged and her hand slipped from Spock's grasp.

"No, Jim, don't," protested McCoy. "We were starting to reach her." Jim ignored him.

"I volunteered, Captain. I will go," Spock said. Jim grasped at her free hand, keeping it from Spock. Spock hesitated and Jim stepped between them, blocking Nyota's view of him. A sharp spike of sensation twisted through her, different from any she had experienced. He was not gone, but he was no longer hers, either.

"Go, Spock. I can't lose what's left of Nyota. Once was enough." Jim was resolute, his decision made.

Spock opened his mouth to protest but she forestalled him by beginning the deep scan. Slower and more thorough than the one of Nyota had been, so as not to damage the information. Jim's physical body was easy; she recorded the patterns that would allow her to convert Jim's matter to energy and back again the same way a transporter did. She scanned his katra seven times using all the methods she knew. It would be her only chance and she could not afford to perform it incorrectly. Converting the drone body back to energy was a simple task. She could always reassemble it again if she wanted to. Now she wanted her entire intellect focused on the task at hand.

Spock and McCoy took slow steps backwards to stay out of the ball of radiant light shed by the transformation. Once the light obscured Jim from their vision, they turned and broke into a run. It was unnecessary. Jim's bargain had included the safety of the others. She wanted to preserve their lives. They had, in the end, helped her and Nyota's regard for them lingered. She moved the ground on which they ran, pulling the atmospheric envelope along behind them, speeding their journey. Once they were safe in the ship, she pulled away.

She had dumped all the information they had requested into the computers on Earth. Radio wave was too slow and she wanted to begin. They would need to decode and sort the information, but humans liked doing things for themselves rather than having it given to them. They would eventually be able to reassemble the displays she had shown Jim, Spock and Bones on their journey to her physical body, to learn of the perfect beings that had helped her to grow like this. It would be remarkable when they finally met, perhaps she would come back to witness it. She demolished the physical ship that carried her on her long return journey, collecting and storing the energy. Light and heat loss was inevitable but not enough to damage either the ship or the planet.

Now just the two of them remained, floating in a geosynchronous orbit within sight of Earth. Her main processing unit, contained within the V'Ger shell and Jim's physical body, wrapped in an atmospheric envelope sufficient to sustain his life for two days. A thin opaque layer protected them from scanning by the ship. She would not let the humans beam him away. Jim's eyes were open but with no light, he could not see. His outstretched arms groped for a surface to hold him. It was his foot that found the tip of the probe and dragged it towards him. "Nyota?" he called, voice strained.

"Soon," she told him. Not in words, she no longer had a method of speech. The final part would have to be done all at once. She possessed the knowledge but a lot of it was theoretical. Ancient Vulcans used psychic weapons of great power directed and bolstered by Vulcan mind powers but they had been banned for millennia and Spock' study of the information was only for historical interest and completeness of his education. Records from those days were partial and incomplete. It was unknown to what extent the weapons had been constructed or used. Some of the most bizarre and frightening, long regarded as fanciful tales, had been discovered, worn but used in isolated weapon batteries. Buried deep in the Clan archives of whichever Clan had discovered them.

Ancient Vulcans had been capable, both in power and morals, of many things the current ones weren't. Moving the katra of a valued person to a younger undamaged body was one. An uncommon procedure for an assortment of reasons, the small number of individuals capable of doing it would rarely admit that they could from a well-reasoned fear of either death or forced servitude. Discounting any moral qualms of the healer, it was difficult to completely destroy the katra of the new host which often resulted in mental problems for the survivor. Memories formed a large part of the katra and unless the brain of the donor body was wiped completely, there would be intermingling of the two, as there was of her and Nyota. She wanted intermingling, but with dissimilar personalities, one would dominate the other and she didn't want the few small parts that were her to be lost.

Waiting was pointless, she had all the information she could get. The priestesses of Vulcan possibly had great knowledge but would not tell her. At the three minute mark, she told herself, she would begin. As the last second ticked past, she drew Jim close. Alarmed, he grabbed onto the metal of V'Ger rather more tightly than necessary, pulling it with him. Using Spock's knowledge, she separated out what she considered to be her inner self and compartmentalised her mind and Jim's katra. His inarticulate cry was cut off when she dissolved all the atoms in their physical being, converting it to energy.

They shot through empty space like a projectile aimed at an enormous crackling ball of energy. She exerted her will, bracing against the force and their pace slowed marginally. Gravity was dragging them towards an impact with the ball and she couldn't stop it. Jim flung them to one side, and they missed, their path curving around to draw them into a decaying orbit that would see them consumed on the next pass. Gravitational forces still worked even with their decreased mass and the enormity of the energy dwarfed their tiny katras. Speculation of their possible fate if the much larger energy mass absorbed them consumed her, it was unlikely to be beneficial. She was so close, she didn't want to fail now, but she didn't think she could prevent the larger entity from absorbing them. The calculations were beyond her. She should have dissipated it before the final step. The release of that much energy would probably destroy the Earth's entire solar system as the barrier between normal space and subspace was torn. The ball drew close again, looming over her and she quailed, expecting annihilation.

Burning pain streaked into her and she could feel Jim's anger. He had bargained for his planet. He was keeping them out of the energy ball, she was to stop dithering and get them **and** the energy out of here. Slender, multi-coloured beams of energy spiralled out in all directions from the central mass. She grabbed the nearest and drew it into her.

As they circled a third time, she began to siphon energy from the ball. It slipped easily through the thin ribbon and she pulled harder, drawing as much as she dared. She had controlled this much energy before but her physical form had allowed for greater energy usage. She knew the method of dealing with it and she constructed a mental cage both from and controlling the energy. Jim controlled their orbit, his anger overtaken by excitement now. With every rotation, they circled closer to the mass of energy but it grew smaller. The distance between the ball decreased faster than the size of the ball and, though she was reorganising energy as quickly as she could, they smashed into the surface of this object and she was surrounded by the most intense sensation she had ever felt. Pain exploded out from her centre as the substance of her being fought to be free of the chains around it and join with the sphere. Her survival was at stake. She had intended to save the Earth as she promised but not at the cost of her own existence. Pain ravaged her mind and she struggled to keep hold of it all but she was stronger now, most of the energy despite the pain and flung a shield of energy around the explosion at the limits of the cordon which would protect the ship. Energy hit the shield and rebounded, giving her time to absorb more of it. There was still too much, she was straining. She would have to let it explode.

Jim screamed in pain for his planet and his friends. The yawning chasm of want within her grew wider as they flowed together at the point of their longing. They wanted, yearned and craved. She, for what she had been denied by her nature, him for something, everything new and different, anything that would keep him sated for more than a short time. His emotions flared bright and intense. Nyota's subdued in comparison. She reached out to him, enfolding him, trying to join with him.

He pushed her away. You promised, she told him. So did you, was his reply. If the Earth is destroyed, then I have no reason to join with you. She struck at him and he recoiled, whirling further away from her. His form feathered at the edges as though he were dissolving into space. A shaky feeling Jim identified as fear flowed through her. Reaching out, she sucked more energy from the explosion, using it to power a move from their current location to…some place far away.

All awareness of the physical world vanished. Instead they found themselves transported to a void. For a brief moment she was alone, a detached intelligence, free from any emotion, as when she was newly born into the world. All her thousands of years of progress were gone in an instant. Terror flooded her and she huddled close to Jim, craving the contact of his emotions, drawing him into her.

As the drone had accessed only part of V'Ger's mind, she now accessed part of Jim's and part of hers. She stabilised, the panic lessening and interest growing. She sorted through his memories, using Spock's knowledge, concentrating her conscious thoughts in one place, letting him merge with her.

He fought her for control but she was stronger. She had not let go of the energy source and blocked him from that knowledge. She flicked through his knowledge of other dimensions. There was a surprising amount of knowledge she had failed to obtain during her search but none of it helped her now.

Other beings crowded around them, surrounding and merging with her. Human thoughts scraped at her, penetrating her mind. Others, more alien, scrabbled impotently. All of a sudden, she was in their mind or they were inside hers. Not just communicating with her but all too present. Incredible pressure from all the other thoughts from a thousand or more energy beings like her, so many that she almost lost herself. And from them came an unstoppable stream of information flowing from the others, some friendly and welcoming, trying to help her, others vicious and wanting aid, all of it swamping into her mind.

Insistent, they pressured her for action and knowledge. She could not be sure which thoughts were hers and which came from elsewhere. Almost overwhelmed, she felt control slipping away from her. A single presence connected with her, veiling the other minds from them, the pressure of their thoughts held back. They felt a tremendous surge of relief, a relief that could not be hidden from this enquiring mind. There was a long silence. She reached forward and exerted her will. Reality shifted and her emotions with it. Other, gentler emotions replaced the pain, filling her with a warm gentle glow which relaxed her. The single mind faltered and vanished. The other intelligences behind it draw closer

He fought them off, refusing to accept the connection, refusing to allow them to draw her into the great mental morass of a joint mind. His rejection slashed through the rolling storm of minds and the reaction was instant. The close identities withdrew from him and the fountains of data cut off. He shivered with the influx of conflicting emotions. Jim pulled away, wanting to keep separate. Others swarmed closer, clawing at him, wanting something from him.

Jim pushed back at the flow of information, drawing certain data forward and pressing their consciousness into it, blocking the rest. Calm and determined, he pulled away, dragging her with him. He sifted the information he needed, ignoring the rest. They separated fully from the swarming mob and mostly from each other. Part of her protested the loss, these were her own kind as humans were Jim and Nyota's, the other part was relieved she was still whole.

She spun and darted among the worlds, peering closer at anything that caught Jim's interest. He was exploring while she was still staggering under the weight of the new sensations. Jim was used to these emotions but she was not. Nyota was quiescent; not been a whole organism, she remained a collection of data. V'Ger still retained her memories but the attendant emotional reactions and desires had dissolved with the drone body. Jim was different. He was fully here with her, the two of them separate but one with each other and the universe. All space, all time, all knowledge was theirs to play with. They were one beautiful, all knowing entity. She could still feel the slender thread that connected her to Spock. It thinned as they moved further in time and space. A pang of loneliness prompted her to invite him to come closer but he refused. There was a delicious pang of pain at his refusal. She had missed so much with her limited awareness. There was so much knowledge and emotion to experience. Pain was just as strong an emotion as pleasure and she let it flood through her, revelling in the experience. She let the thread slip loose and turned her attention to something else.

The hard, painful grip of an unknown presence prevented her from moving. Curiosity was her major emotion although alarm flickered from Jim. To look at the nebula that had drawn her attention or to investigate whatever impeded her journey. She hesitated, torn between two conflicting yearnings.

"No," said a voice whose identity tugged at her consciousness. She knew everything, why didn't she know this? She pulled closer to the being, focusing her attention on it. A vision of horror formed as she concentrated. A tall slender woman with pointed ears who would have been beautiful before her nose was broken and her face slashed to ribbons. Green blood dripped down over her mouth from a deep cut in her forehead. Blue-green bruising swelled half her face to an unrecognisable mess. Straight dark hair falling to her collar bone on one side was a matted mess on the other.

"It is not real," the woman slurred in Standard, from one side of her torn and bleeding mouth. "Don't let it tempt you into staying. Like the others." What others, Uhura thought but the answer came to her immediately. She had seen other beings, not entirely unlike them since her birth a moment ago.

She turned her full attention to the woman, examining the short length of her life. There wasn't much to experience. Vulcans lived lives of suppressed emotion. She lingered over the delightful agony of loss and brushed over the warmth of familial affection. One thought caught her attention, sparking a flicker of pain, a pain that was hers, not the perception of another beings emotion, pain that she felt. She savoured it, allowing the sensation to engulf her. It filled her to overflowing, then compressed, becoming more intense. She wanted to dwell in it forever, feeling alive. It turned, mutating into other emotions, anger and disgust. Part of her wanted those too, but another part was desperate, frantic to get rid of them, to rid herself of the intensity. She watched until the end and then made her decision.

She stepped towards T'Para, into a different world.


End file.
